The Silence in Between
by ladycobert
Summary: A - not very romantic - London trip for Cora and Robert. Prequel to Heartlines.
1. You are the space in my bed

Early August, 1921

"Cora!" Robert bellowed as he burst into the bedroom some time before the dressing gong.

Looking up from her book, Cora fixed her eyes on his face, dismayed at his tone. "Yes, darling?"

"I have to go to London for several days. I'm having Bates pack for the trip now." He seemed irritated somehow and couldn't be still. "I have to meet with Murray about some estate business."

Closing her book, she swung her legs over the side of the chaise with a smile. "Oh, I'll go with you! We'll stay at the London house. I need to get a few things for Sybbie, and then we can go to Lady Javert's ball!"

Robert stopped his frenzied pacing, taking in the excitement in her voice and the way her eyes shone. Despite this, he said roughly, "Cora, I don't want to go to any bloody ball."

Cora drew back, struck again by his heated tone. He was clearly in a bad mood, so she merely pouted and put her legs back up on the chaise. Opening her book once more and training her eyes on the page, she said softly, "Fine. I'll stay here then."

The disappointment she exuded in just those five words shamed him. He didn't want her to go with him, and he didn't want to attend a ball, but he knew he'd exhibited appallingly terrible behavior – especially toward her – the past few weeks, and she'd borne it with the grace and patience that she nearly always displayed with him.

With a heavy sigh, Robert rubbed his hand across his brow and then pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, feeling a headache coming on. "Alright, Cora. I'll get Carson to telephone the London house so it can be opened for a few days for us. We'll leave on the early train, if you don't mind." He knew he was going to regret this. But he wasn't sure he wouldn't regret the alternative either.

Grinning up at him, Cora said, "Oh, I'll be ready." She stood and went over to ring the bell. "I'll let O'Brien know, and she can have me all ready to go for the morning train."

Robert pulled away when she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I have a headache… rest before dinner…" he muttered before disappearing into his dressing room.

Cora stood staring at the door that divided their rooms. The distance she had begun to feel from him over the past weeks had become acute. There was a silence between them that she didn't like. She didn't like it at all.

* * *

The train sped from Downton station toward London the next morning, bearing at least two unhappy passengers. Robert hid behind the newspaper while Cora kept her nose in her book.

Robert hadn't come to bed the night before. He'd slept in his dressing room. After dinner, he'd told Cora he had to attend to a few things to prepare for his meetings with Murray. He'd stayed in the library, he'd sat at his desk, and – he'd drank Scotch. He felt guilty for lying to her, and even more miserable, both emotionally and physically, for getting drunk. Thus, when he got upstairs, he simply passed out in his dressing room after Bates had gotten him into his night clothes.

Cora had wakened in the middle of the night to a strange noise. She glanced over to Robert's side of the bed to find it empty. She sat up and listened closely, discovering it came from the direction of the dressing room. Getting up, she'd pressed her ear to the door. She didn't have open the door to know he was snoring – and that he'd been drinking. He only snored that loudly when he was drunk. She got back in bed, but her thoughts kept her awake for a long time before she could sleep again.

After several hours of deafening silence between them on the train, Cora could no longer take it. She put her book on her lap and looked up at the newspaper that stared at her from across the compartment. "Robert?"

"Hm?" he grunted.

Stifling a sigh of vexation, Cora went on. "Lady Javert's ball is tomorrow night, but I accepted an invitation from Margaret and Henry for dinner at their house for tonight."

Robert lowered the paper, his eyes flashing at her in annoyance. "Why did you do that, Cora? You didn't even ask me first."

Cora didn't suppress her sigh this time. "Because, Robert. I didn't want to spend the evening alone with you when you're like this. It's different at home and others are there, but I can't do this – " she gestured between them to indicate the way they'd been all morning – "tonight." She deposited the book into her handbag as the train slowed, pulling into Victoria station. "Accompany me or not. It's your decision. You can plead illness if you wish. Margaret and Henry are two of our oldest friends; they'll understand."

Having remained very still, watching her, while she made this speech, Robert became aware that his wife's grace and patience might be wearing thin. She sounded agitated, tired, slightly distressed – and hurt. Nevertheless, he still thought her not asking him before accepting a dinner invitation was inconsiderate of her.

"Yes," he said, folding up his newspaper and putting on his hat. "I think they'll understand. You can say I had a headache… or something."

Shaking her head in disappointment, Cora simply looked up at him and asked flatly, "So this is what it's going to be like, is it?" She sighed. "Fine. Will you let me know when you've decided to be the man you were not even a month ago?"

Her statement cut at his heart. He didn't reply. When he offered her his arm to help her off the train, she took it, but her touch was indifferent. Robert sighed as they stepped onto the station platform and walked toward their conveyance.

* * *

Robert didn't even spare a compliment for his wife as she stood in the foyer in a magnificent blue evening dress and twinkling sapphires, although he thought she looked absolutely divine. His stubbornness had increased over the course of the day. His meeting with Murray had upset him greatly, and it didn't help that Cora was going off without him. Robert crossed his arms as she checked her hair one more time in the mirror.

With seeming indifference to his lack of praise, Cora glanced at him before walking toward the door, throwing a casual, "Don't wait up," over her shoulder.

Balling up his fists by his sides, Robert muttered under his breath after she'd gone, and he went off to the dining room to wait for his solitary dinner.

Really, Cora felt much less nonchalant about the whole thing than she had shown to her husband. She took several deep breaths to stop herself from crying in the middle of the motor car. She couldn't stand how very far away he seemed to have gone. It reminded her of the end of the War, right around the time of her Spanish flu. She knew she was part of the reason he'd felt the way he had then. She had promised herself not to push him away again. But she had, hadn't she? Especially after Sybil's death.

Raising a gloved hand to her mouth, Cora squeezed her eyes tightly shut, biding these thoughts to go from her. She could not attend a social engagement if she kept thinking this way. And now she wasn't sure she'd made the right decision in going to Margaret and Henry's without him. Perhaps he would think she had given up.

_No_, she told herself. _**No**__. It will be fine. It will all be fine. If only he would talk to me…._

Cora took another deep breath as the motor pulled up in front of Margaret and Henry's house. She pasted on a bright smile as the chauffeur opened the door, and walked in like everything was wonderful.

"Oh, I hope he'll be alright, darling," Margaret said, kissing each of Cora's cheeks. "Do you think he'll be recovered in time for Lady Javert's ball tomorrow night?"

"I don't know, Margaret." She turned to Henry, who pressed her hand warmly.

"I believe you know everyone, Cora," Henry pulled her arm through his as he led her to the drawing room, Margaret following them.

"Except Le, Henry," Margaret reminded him.

"Oh, yes, thank you, Meg." Henry patted Cora's hand. "Leland Percy Stanton. He invested in some sort of railroad company in America and now he's richer than Croesus."

Cora barely stopped herself from muttering, "It's fortunate he didn't invest in Canadian railroads…."

Henry made a sweeping gesture with his hand as he entered the room with Cora on his arm. "Lady Grantham is here, everyone! Lord Grantham couldn't make it, regrettably, but he sends his regards."

Smiling wryly, Cora greeted all the other guests and accepted a glass of wine from Henry. There would have been an even dozen with Robert, but without him, there were seven people there she knew – apart from Margaret and Henry – and then there was Stanton.

Cora endeavored to forget about her poor husband at home – to remember that he had chosen not to come – and endeavored instead to have a nice time. She wandered amongst the other guests, some friends, some long-time acquaintances. After a while she noticed that she appeared to have a shadow in Leland Percy Stanton. It was somewhat flattering, and at the same time unnerving.

Just after the butler announced dinner and everyone was moving toward the door, Margaret pulled Cora into a corner of the drawing room. "I hope you don't mind that I put you next to Le at dinner. It's just that he has been to America many times – even New York – and I thought you two would have a lot to discuss."

"That's fine, Margaret." Cora looked down with a sigh.

"Cora, you don't seem quite yourself tonight." She waved a hand as Cora opened her mouth. "And don't deny it because I've known you since your first season, my dear, and I have even seen you passed out in a corridor of this very house during one of our balls."

"No. I'm not quite myself." She gave her hostess a small smile.

"Well, at least there's one good thing."

"What's that, Margaret?" Cora couldn't see anything good about the evening. She was simply becoming more tired at having to mask her misery.

"Le seems quite taken with you. I was afraid he'd be bored with none of his business associates around." Margaret chuckled and led Cora toward the dining room.

Cora sat in the chair beside Stanton. Henry sat on the other side of her, but was deeply engrossed in conversation with another guest as soon as the men had sat down. So she turned to her other dinner companion.

"So, Mr. Stanton, I understand that you invested in some American railroads?"

"Yes, Lady Grantham. They have done very well, I'm pleased to say. I travel there about once or twice a year for several weeks at a time." He grinned at her. "But, please, call me Le – or Percy. Everyone does."

Taking a sip of water, Cora shook her head slightly. "Oh, I couldn't. And you travel to New York as well?"

"But I would be so gratified if you would call me by one of those names," he persisted.

Cora grew warm under his intense gaze. "I really can't, Mr. Stanton. I hardly know you." She lowered her eyes to her serviette, catching her breath.

Stanton leaned toward her and lowered his voice, "Well, I hope to know you better, Lady Grantham."

The intimacy in his voice left Cora cold. "I am only in London for a few days. And I'm sure my husband would like to meet you as well." She glanced up at him, wishing he would draw back to his own chair a little. It was thrilling to have someone admire you, but he made her somewhat uncomfortable.

Stanton merely chuckled. "Oh, that would be nice, but I'd rather spend the time with you. You remind me of the grand American ladies I meet in New York and Chicago."

Cora turned to him, saying coldly, "Then perhaps you should spend the time with them, _Mr._ Stanton."

Again, he brushed off her dismissal of his attempts at familiarity. "No, no. They are not _ladies_, your ladyship."

Cora didn't respond, but sought out Margaret's eyes across the table. Just as Cora had thought, Margaret had been attentive to everything going on in her dining room; she was a perfect hostess, of course. Margaret shook her head slightly. Cora understood this to mean that she'd have to bear the evening out, that the man had shown no previous signs of being any worse than a horrible flirt.

Closing her eyes briefly, Cora turned to him, cued by her friend, "No? And why not, Mr. Stanton?" She refused to call him by any other name. She would be adamant in that respect, if no other.

As they continued to converse, Cora felt herself become more at ease. Maybe it was as Margaret indicated – that he was nothing more than a flirt. Cora could flirt. The man meant nothing to her. Only one man meant anything to her, and he was probably sulking and drinking copious amounts of alcohol in their London house at that very moment. So Cora gave herself up to it. For one evening, she would.

But then he asked, "Aren't you attending Lady Javert's ball tomorrow night, Lady Grantham?"

Cora's heart beat harder. "Yes. We've accepted the invitation."

"We?" Stanton inquired.

"My husband and I, of course, Mr. Stanton." Cora turned her eyes to her dessert dish, all of a sudden devoid of any appetite.

He sighed as if in relief. "I'm happy to hear you'll be there. I'll look for you, then. And hope you'll save a dance or two for me."

Staring hard at the dessert in front of her, Cora replied in a strained voice, "Certainly, Mr. Stanton."

"I'm glad for that," he said, taking one of her hands from the table and kissing it.

Cora wanted nothing more than to be home beside her husband in the library, in the drawing room, in bed. She pulled her hand away as soon as she could politely do so. "I look forward to it." Her voice was wooden.

Stanton didn't seem to notice.

Margaret wondered at her friend's sudden departure. She would have to have a word with Le, if he wasn't more careful. She also knew her friend Robert's temper if someone roused it – and she remembered a certain Sir Alistair from several decades back, who'd been too cowardly to even see Robert or Cora again at one of her balls after his propositions to Cora had gone flat. Well, after Robert had flattened him.

She hoped all would be well. She had always been very fond of Cora – and of Robert – and she didn't like to think there was trouble in their paradise.

* * *

When Cora arrived home, she thanked their London chauffeur, then asked their butler if O'Brien might be sent to her room. Then she followed the sounds of her husband's snoring to the library.

"Robert!" she said, rather more sharply than usual. She was still shaken by her encounter with the unrelenting Stanton.

With a start, her husband awoke. "Cora?" he said, blinking his eyes at her before lifting a hand to rub them. An empty Scotch bottle sat on the table next to his favorite chair.

"I just wanted you to know that I was home and off to bed." She started toward the door, pausing to hurl at him, "In case you wanted to join me. But I'm thinking you don't."

There was a bitterness to her voice that Robert didn't like. He attempted to engage her in conversation. "How was the dinner?"

"Oh, lovely." She stayed with her back to him. "You know Margaret. She's an excellent hostess."

"Yes. Yes, she is." Robert remembered all the times they'd been to Lady Margaret and Lord Henry's – together. Suddenly, it pained him that she'd been there without him.

"There was a new acquaintance of theirs present," she said, looking down at her handbag, still facing away from him.

"Oh?" he asked, straightening himself in his chair. "And who was she?"

"_He_ was Mr. Leland Percy Stanton. I was seated next to him at dinner. He appeared to take an interest in me." Cora lifted her eyes to the open door, from whence the only light came into the room.

Robert's brows drew together. "He did, did he?"

"Yes," she answered in a near whisper. "Goodnight, Robert," she said, starting toward the door.

He almost rose from the chair. He almost dropped to her feet and begged forgiveness for the previous weeks. Almost.

Except he didn't. He let her go.

"Goodnight, Cora," he replied wearily.

Once she got to her room, she held back her tears only long enough for O'Brien to help her into her night dress. She didn't want anyone else to see how fearful she was of losing him.

Three decades had passed; so much had happened. Yet here she was again, afraid of losing him. Why couldn't he just talk to her, confide in her? Why?

Her heart hurting, she slipped beneath the covers and turned out the lights, somehow knowing he wouldn't be joining her again that night. Somehow knowing that something had driven a wedge between them. Robert's eyes held no light for her anymore. It worried Cora more than she was willing to admit.

* * *

A/N: Represented by lines from Florence + the Machine's "No Light, No Light."

"You are the hole in my head  
You are the space in my bed  
You are **the silence in between** what I thought  
And what I said

You are the night time fear  
You are the morning when it's clear  
When it's over you're the start  
You're my head,  
You're my heart."


	2. I was disappearing in plain sight

Robert sat in Murray's office that afternoon growing increasingly irritated. He wanted to get up and walk out, but they had to discuss this business, and Robert wasn't about to have anyone tell him that his estate wasn't important to him.

In fact, he sometimes wondered whether his estate was even _his_ anymore. When he sat down with Tom and Matthew, when they walked the estate or met with tenants, he often felt invisible – or at the very least superfluous. He said what he thought, he shared his ideas, but they very rarely used them. _Do they even need me here?_ he would think, listening to them chat together about how the estate should be run, how to bring it into the 1920s.

Robert no longer felt like the Earl of Grantham.

When he'd decided to take Cora on a trip into the country for a few days to celebrate her birthday the month before, he'd gone to his sons-in-law and made sure they would be alright while he was away. Matthew had simply chuckled and said, "I'm certain we can manage on our own for a few days, right Tom?" Tom had agreed, laughing too.

After he and Cora had returned, he'd found that they'd changed something else about the way the estate would be run, without even consulting him.

He felt the same way he'd felt during the War: useless. And worse, he felt like he'd lost a limb, his right arm or a leg perhaps. Downton was his life's work, and, next to Cora and his daughters, the most beloved thing in the world to him. And they'd begun changing things about it without so much as a by-your-leave. He'd spent the last year attempting to fit his thinking about his estate and his own role into a new mold. He'd succeeded – he'd thought – to a certain extent; he'd been begrudging about it, stubborn, somewhat resentful, but knew he had to do his best.

Apparently, however, his best wasn't good enough. He was unwanted and redundant. Thus, upon his return from their country outing, Robert started upon a downward spiral.

Robert truly hated how bottling up his annoyance and sense of inadequacy had affected his relationship with his wife over the past weeks. She'd been patient and kind and uncomplaining. And it made him feel worse.

And then, the other day, Matthew and Tom had announced that Robert should go to London to discuss their most recent ideas with Murray and to get a report from the solicitor about how the estate was doing. Robert had had to grind his teeth together to keep his temper. He'd been selected to play messenger boy. He agreed to go because, again, he didn't want them to think he didn't care about Downton. But he didn't like it.

Cora deciding to come with him, having him agree to a ball, accepting a dinner invitation on his behalf…. He was aware that she was simply attempting to pull him out of his funk. But she had no idea how far down he had fallen.

And he didn't plan on telling her.

Because he couldn't tell her. How could he tell her that he was no more than a figurehead of his own ship, of which he used to be captain? How could he tell her that Matthew and Tom made him feel small, insignificant, even incompetent? He didn't want her to see him as weak or no longer in control. He didn't want her to lose any more esteem for him.

He didn't want her to confirm what he already thought of himself.

It was bad enough that Murray seemed to be doing that very thing. Robert's face continued to reflect the vexation he felt with the entire business.

"Lord Grantham?" Murray finally said near the end of their meeting. "You look displeased. Everything I've told you, everything I've heard from you sounds most excellent. The estate is doing well, is making its way to being completely in the black and dependent upon its own workings for its income. This means that soon you can put the rest of money Mr. Crawley invested into an interest-bearing account and live a vast deal more than comfortably off of that and the estate profits. And I am most pleased with the ideas you've conveyed to me. Mr. Branson and Mr. Crawley have formed several plans that should prove exceptionally productive. You have two very intelligent and able associates in them, Lord Grantham. You should be thankful."

Robert ground his teeth, his face turning red. "Is that all for today, Murray? I have to get ready for a frivolous social occasion."

Murray sat back a little, thrown by this. "Certainly, your lordship. We can iron out the rest of the details in tomorrow's meeting, if that would suit you, Lord Grantham."

"Fine, Murray. Good afternoon." Without waiting for a response, Robert got up abruptly and, clapping his hat upon his head, left his solicitor's office.

Hoping the walk would calm him, he didn't hail a cab. Instead, he stomped along the pavement, breathing hard. All the praise, all the credit had gone to Tom and Matthew. All of it.

Once he got home, Robert nearly flung his hat at the butler and stamped past the open door of the drawing room.

"Robert?" Cora called out to him in a bright voice. "Don't you want to see some of the things I bought today?"

Robert turned on his heel and clomped to the open doorway. "No, Cora, I don't. I have to get ready for this ridiculous ball you're making me attend." At the stricken look on her face, his chest constricted. Unable to bear her expression, he turned again and trudged up to his dressing room. Once there, he closed the door, hung his head, and sobbed.

* * *

Cora had O'Brien dress her in her nicest ball gown, a pretty cream one with gold trimmings, which reminded her a bit of the one she had worn to Lady Margaret's ball all those years ago. A ball where Robert could not stand to see her sit out her favorite dance, and so, completely against proper social decorum at that time – spouses being discouraged from dancing more than the first dance together, so to encourage socializing – had claimed every one of those dances for himself.

Remembering this, readjusting the tiara she wore in the mirror before leaving the room, she took a deep breath and resolved to try again to help Robert free of whatever horrible thing had hold of him.

When she met her husband at the door, he said nothing, but he offered her his arm. Taking it, Cora said, "You look very nice this evening, Robert. I will be the envy of every woman there with such a dashing man escorting me." She smiled, hoping he would do likewise.

Robert did smile, but it was pained and did not reach his eyes. Cora felt her heart drop.

Once they got to Lady Javert's and her butler had taken their things, Cora's optimism about the evening had disappeared. He said nothing to her in the motor, and he barely looked at her as they walked up to the house and into the foyer. She was torn between clinging to him and disappearing into the crush of bodies in the ballroom once Robert had ushered her there.

After they greeted their hostess for the evening, Cora spotted Margaret across the room. "Darling, I'm going to go see Margaret for a moment, and then I'll come find you for a dance. Is that alright?"

Robert already seemed fatigued. He grabbed a cocktail off the tray of a passing waiter and downed it in one. "Do whatever you like, Cora. If I'm not here, I'll be in the billiard room with a cigar, a Scotch, and the other menfolk who don't really want to be here."

Cora blanched. "Fine, Robert. Fine."

As she swept past him, picking her way through the crowd toward their mutual friend, Robert's stomach did a flip. He knew he'd upset her. Sighing, he flagged down another waiter to request a Scotch.

Finding a vacant chair, Robert sat with his Scotch, sulking. His eyes found his wife, and he watched as she reached Margaret and began to talk to her, laughing and smiling as if she had no worries at all. He wasn't sure whether to be happy or angry about this. As he sipped and watched, he saw another person join them – a man. Sitting up straighter, Robert felt his chest constrict as the man lifted his wife's hand to his lips and kissed it. She didn't pull her hand away immediately, but let him hold it for a moment, looking at him indulgently.

As the music started, the man in question leaned close to Cora, as if asking her something. Robert saw her nod and smile at him. He led her onto the floor, and Robert couldn't tear his eyes away from them. His lovely, beautiful wife in the arms of this – this – whoever he was. The man had dark hair and was probably at least ten years younger than the two of them. The cut of his evening attire was of the latest mode, expensive fabric, impeccably cut and sewn by a meticulous tailor. It showed off a good form, athletic, yet lithe at the same time. His hair was oiled to perfection, his one ring – probably a school ring – was tasteful. The man held his wife close as they danced, but not in a disgusting way.

Robert hated him.

Cora's heart beat hard. She wasn't entirely sure she liked the way Stanton caressed her waist or her hand as they danced. But, having located Robert in his spot along the wall and surreptitiously glancing at him and the way he slowly seethed and quickly drank, she couldn't find it in herself to care quite as much as she should.

So she danced. And she laughed. She flirted. And when the dance ended, she accepted a drink from Henry and then his offer to dance. She knew Henry wouldn't affect Robert the same way, but he never liked watching her dance with anyone else – not even close friends – outside of the annual servants' ball. After Henry brought her back to their little group, she accepted Stanton's offer to dance again.

Soon she couldn't see her husband anymore. She assumed he had removed himself to the billiard room as he'd told her he might. Shrugging to herself, she proceeded to drink and laugh, flirt and have a nice time. If he didn't want to have a nice time at the ball, fine. He wasn't going to stop her from having a nice time herself.

Except the more she did these things, the emptier she felt.

Robert retired to a shadowy corner of the billiard room with a fourth glass of Scotch and smoked a cigar – and brooded.

After a while, Henry came looking for him. "Robert, it's time for supper."

Robert grunted. "I'm not hungry, Henry."

Henry stared at him, his eyes growing wide. "How many have you had?"

"I've lost count." He didn't look at Henry.

"Come on, Robert, you need something to eat."

Robert let Henry pull his arm around his shoulder and help him up and out of the billiard room. They entered the dining room – a loud, bright place that now made Robert's eyes and ears hurt.

Leading him to his place at the table, Henry sat beside him. He watched Robert lock his eyes somewhere, then moved his own eyes to seek out what he'd fixed upon. Cora and Margaret and Stanton.

"Who is that?" Robert asked.

"Leland Percy Stanton. Rich off American railroad investments." Henry could tell that Robert already had decided not to like his and Margaret's new acquaintance.

Robert began to laugh somewhat maniacally. "Railroads?" He kept laughing, drawing the attention to several of the diners around them.

"Please eat something, friend. Cora is with Margaret." His kept his voice low, calm.

Robert stopped laughing abruptly. "No," he said. "I'm not hungry." He kept his eyes on the trio across the room.

Henry sighed deeply. Something was very wrong with his friend.

Cora caught her husband staring at her from across the room. Their eyes met, and she saw the pain in them. It made her breath catch. But only for a moment. Because she noticed that he could barely stay upright in his chair, he was swaying so badly from drink. Setting her chin stubbornly, remembering the past couple of weeks and how insufferable he'd been, she turned away from his gaze and back to her companions, laughing at a story Margaret told them.

Robert looked down, cut to the core. "Henry, I feel ill," he admitted.

Henry, alarmed, stood and helped Robert to stand as well, guiding him back to a washroom where he rid himself of much of the alcohol in his body.

Cora caught the pair out of the corner of her eye, immediately wanting to go to him. But somehow she couldn't. He was too far away. He wouldn't want her there anyway.

After the dinner, Robert removed himself to his shadowy corner of the billiard room again, feeling a bit better for having been ill, and resolving not to drink again that night. He didn't want to watch his wife dance and flirt and laugh with other men – and he was almost certain she had no intention of dancing with him now. He contented himself with his cigar as best as he could, blending into the darkness, feeling he'd actually become the invisible person he already seemed to be.

He felt even more so when he saw Stanton come into the room with another mutual acquaintance.

"So, she's otherwise engaged at the moment?" the acquaintance asked, unknowingly within earshot of Robert.

"Yes, dancing with Henry." Stanton chuckled.

"Didn't she come with her husband, Percy?"

Robert's ears pricked up as he fell even farther into the shadowy recesses of his quiet corner.

Stanton flicked his hand indifferently. "She said he was here, but I haven't seen Lord Grantham at all. He didn't even have the courtesy to have the first dance with her. If you ask me, the guy's a schmuck." He seemed proud of his use of American vernacular and puffed his chest out.

But his acquaintance – and Robert – appeared confused. _Schmuck?_ Robert thought, just as the other man mouthed this.

"He's a fool, Clyde. A fool." Stanton shook his head and then shrugged. "Lady Grantham is beautiful and intelligent, graceful and kind, witty and utterly adorable." He lowered his voice somewhat. "Not to mention incredibly alluring."

Robert clenched his fists and set his jaw, looking daggers at Stanton's back.

"Percy, I think you should be careful. He might seem a fool, but Lord Grantham is terribly protective of his wife. You even breathe the wrong way near her, and you'll be wishing you never heard her name." Clyde puffed on his cigar.

Stanton made a remarkably derisive noise, gesturing around him. "He hasn't shown up all night! And the lady has been flirting with me the entire evening. Mark my words, she's looking for something besides the absent Lord Grantham."

If Stanton hadn't made his exit just then, Robert was almost certain he would have stood and found a way to garrote the villain. As it was, he sat and fumed. After he'd finished his cigar, he got up and went back into the ballroom. Standing at the edge of the dance floor, he located his wife. Of course she was dancing with Stanton.

All of a sudden, she lifted her eyes and caught Robert's. She looked almost embarrassed. But then she turned her head to hear what her partner said, cut her eyes back to him, and laughed.

_Are they laughing at _me_? _he questioned. He couldn't take this anymore. He wove through the dancing couples and tapped Stanton heavily on the shoulder, effectively making the pair stop.

Cora stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure what to make of this development.

"I believe Lady Grantham promised the entirety of this dance to me," Stanton said haughtily. Robert bristled at the note of possessiveness in his voice. "Who are you, sir, to request I step aside?"

Robert was pleased to see that he towered over the man by several inches, as he was only as tall as Cora in her dance shoes. He glowered at his adversary. "_Lord_ Grantham, _sir_," he replied in a booming voice. "Now kindly get out of my way before I break both of your hands."

Stanton's eyes narrowed, and his arm remained around Cora's waist. "I don't care who you are. You obviously have no regard for your wife or her happiness."

Cora blinked rapidly. She knew those words would not sit well at all with Robert. She froze, wondering what he would do.

Robert took another step closer, glowering at Stanton, his hands on his hips. "Get away from my wife, Stanton. I won't ask you again." His voice rose.

Recognizing the dangerous aspect to his expression and tone, Cora put a gentle hand on her partner's arm, beginning to pull away from him. "You should probably listen to him, Mr. Stanton. We're causing a scene." She glanced around to where dancers closest to them had indeed stopped to eavesdrop; she blushed.

"Yes, perhaps you should listen to Lady Grantham," Robert thundered, his own face growing redder.

Instead of letting go of Cora as she bid, Stanton drew her closer, his arm clamping around her, causing her to squeak in alarm, her eyes widening even more than they had been before.

The squeak was too much. Robert grabbed the man's arm and jerked it away from Cora, pushing her as gently – but insistently – as possible behind him. Then he shoved Stanton away.

"Never let me see you touch my wife again. _Ever_." His eyes flashing, he grasped Cora by the wrist and pulled her off the dance floor.

"Robert, you're hurting me," she implored, nearly falling over to keep up with how quickly he was walking her toward the hall. "And I haven't said goodnight to anyone," she added, realizing he fully meant to take her home that moment.

"I don't care," Robert tossed out behind him. But he loosed his grip on her wrist, and instead took her by the elbow, guiding her to where Lady Javert's butler had their things.

In the motor, Cora remained silent, rubbing her wrist where he'd grabbed her. She could feel the rage radiating from him, even if she couldn't see his face. She knew from long experience it was not the time to try to talk. She felt somewhat ashamed, her eyes cast down.

Once inside the house, Robert barked out a brusque order to the butler that he and Lady Grantham weren't to be disturbed and shepherded his wife upstairs. As soon as he'd closed the door, he shoved her up against it, applying his lips to her neck and clamping his hands around her waist.

Cora gasped, stunned at his behavior. His motions were rough, full of anger. It wasn't that they hadn't been together before when one or the other needed to get out pent-up emotion, but it was always with the other's consent. This time… it felt wrong. She'd already been man-handled enough tonight.

So when he pushed a knee between her legs to spread them apart while thrusting her even more adamantly against the back of the door, she brought her hands to his chest and shoved as hard as she could. "Robert – " she whispered.

At this, he merely clutched her wrists in his hands and pinned them up over her head, his tongue wandering over her clavicle and up her neck.

Cora breathed heavily and closed her eyes, but it wasn't from pleasure or desire, rather from the effort of not crying out in pain at the way he had trapped her against the door, at how his hands chafed her already aching wrist. When he reached her ear with his mouth, he put his lips around the part of her earlobe next to her earring, then clamped his teeth down hard upon the soft flesh.

At her involuntary yelp of pain, Robert drew back, whatever demon that had hold of him startled away by her outcry. He gazed at her visage, which was full of fear, her eyes looking at him pleadingly. He realized how forcefully he held her arms up over her head, her wrists pinioned against the door, his knee between her thighs. He drew away from her as if burned, his face full of shock at his own actions. His mouth moved ineffectually until he finally got out, "Oh God, Cora, I –"

She watched as his face turned a deep red and sweat beaded upon his brow. He looked so inconsolably contrite and astonished at his own behavior – and lost.

He tried again, "Cora, I – " before he couldn't bear the pain rising up in his chest and beat a hasty retreat to his dressing room.

Unable to believe what had just happened, Cora slid down the door of her bedroom into a heap upon the floor and cried as she hadn't since the month after Sybil died.

* * *

"No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
I never knew daylight could be so violent  
A revelation in the light of day  
You can't choose what stays and what fades away

Through the crowd I was crying out  
And in your place there were a thousand other faces  
I was disappearing in plain sight  
Heaven help me, I need to make it right"


	3. Tell me what you want me to say

The sun was already near its zenith when Cora woke the next morning. She stretched her cramped limbs and surveyed her crumpled dress. She'd spent the night curled up on the floor by her bedroom door. Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stepped over to pull the bell cord.

When O'Brien arrived, Cora was selecting a dress for the afternoon. She turned when the door opened, surprised to see her lady's maid carrying a large vase of roses of varying hues.

"These arrived for you a little while ago, my lady," O'Brien informed her. She set the vase on her employer's bedside table and stepped back, noting the condition of Cora's attire and the shadows under her eyes. But she said nothing.

Cora went to the arrangement of flowers and bent to smell them, drawing the card out from among the fragrant blooms. She wasn't sure if roses, even ones so gorgeous, would get her husband back in her good graces, but it was a start. At least it acknowledged that he recognized how extremely badly he'd acted the night before.

Except – they weren't from Robert.

A hollowness swallowed her whole as she read the card:

_Dear Lady Grantham,_

_I wish to apologise for my reprehensible behaviour last night. I do hope you'll accept these flowers as a small token of my respect – and in apology. Might you forgive me?_

_With deepest regards and affection,  
__Le_

Cora closed her eyes, clutching the card.

O'Brien came in from drawing Cora a bath, distressed to see the grief etched on her face. "Your ladyship? Is something wrong?"

Opening her eyes again, Cora fixed them upon her maid. "Yes. Everything is wrong."

* * *

"Avery, has his lordship been downstairs yet today?" Cora inquired of their butler, stopping just before entering the dining room.

"No, your ladyship," he responded. "Nor has he rung for Mr. Bates."

Cora suppressed a sigh, smiling a little at Avery. "Thank you. I suppose it will be one for luncheon then."

"Very good, my lady." He followed her into the dining room so he could serve her, footmen being thought unnecessary for a few days of only Lord and Lady Grantham.

Cora ate in silence, then she crossed the hall to the drawing room and read in silence – or tried to read. Her mind kept hovering around the events of the night before, and it seemed that the only stirring or sounds in the entire house were happening inside her own head. She wished these thoughts would quit plaguing her. If she wasn't pondering over the last evening, she was recalling the past several weeks.

Finally, she gave up trying to read and let the book fall closed upon her lap. The motion drew her eyes to her wrist, where a bruise encircled it, a slightly darker shade of purple on the underside. Suddenly, she felt as if she were suffocating, Robert's silence pressing down on her with worse fierceness than his physical force of last night.

She had to get out of the house. Cora stood, unmindful of the book tumbling to the floor. She rushed out of the drawing room, grabbed her hat and handbag, and barely gave Avery a chance to open the front door for her.

Stepping out onto the pavement, she hastily put her hat on, not caring how it looked. She drew on her gloves and then clutched her handbag, striding as quickly as possible away from the house. As she breathed in the hot, grimy air of London, passed numerous other pedestrians and watched the motors vie for their place in traffic – the drivers honking their horns and cursing out their windows – she felt the press of loneliness begin to lift. The shadows of the night before faded somewhat. Not entirely, but maneuvering around other walkers and crossing streets without being hit took some concentration, concentration she was willing to give.

However, Cora's thoughts occupied her enough so she didn't notice when someone began following her.

When she found the shop she'd wanted to visit, she stepped inside and did her best to smile at the ladies behind the counter. She asked to be shown the latest evening gowns, thinking she might have something made for Edith or Mary – or even herself. One of the attendants brought her a fashion plate book and another book of fabric swatches. As they discussed which fabrics would match which dresses best, the attendant turned a page and Cora was momentarily distracted by a swatch of a deep chocolate brown. She touched a finger to the silky material, taken by the color and feel of the fabric. She knew she had to have a dress made in this – that Robert would love it.

Then she closed her eyes momentarily against the unguarded thought, now unsure that Robert would even care. When the lady asked if she was alright, Cora opened her eyes and nodded, a sad smile on her lips. She got the attendant to show her which dresses came in that particular fabric. Once she spotted the one she could absolutely see herself in – could even imagine the look on Robert's face when he saw her in it (if he was himself again when it arrived) – she put her finger on the plate.

"An excellent choice, your ladyship," the attendant said cheerfully, moving away to get an order form.

"Yes, an excellent choice indeed, Lady Grantham," an unctuous voice whispered in her ear. "It would look most excellent on you," he continued as Cora jumped and realized he stood much closer behind her than she'd thought.

"Mr. Stanton," she said, stepping to the side to put some distance between them, a hand over her rapid heartbeat.

"Please, my lady," he said in return, his voice a caress, his eyes fastened to her face, "call me Le. Margaret and Henry do."

"Margaret and Henry have known you much longer than I have, Mr. Stanton. I wouldn't be comfortable." Cora shook her head and took another step to the side since he'd leaned closer to her. She could smell his cologne and see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

She wanted to push him away. But she didn't. She simply kept putting more distance between them.

The attendant returned, and Stanton was tactful enough to walk away while she made her order. He didn't leave, however. He wandered around the shop, his hands clasped behind his back, whistling softly.

When Cora had finished placing the order for the dress, he came back up to her. "Did you receive the flowers, Lady Grantham?" he asked with a smile.

"I did. Thank you, Mr. Stanton. They were beautiful." At least he wasn't standing so close to her this time.

He tilted his head down a bit, his eyes lifting, his gaze intense. "Beautiful flowers for an even more beautiful lady."

Cora colored. "Please, Mr. Stanton. I wish you wouldn't say things like that." She kept her voice low, even.

"I only meant to compliment you, your ladyship," he said, still smiling softly at her. "But I will endeavor to refrain if you insist."

"I do insist." She paused, then added, "Thank you."

"I hope you do forgive me. My behavior last night was unconscionable." Here Cora inclined her head, to indicate her forgiveness. Stanton exhaled in relief, his grin widening. "Then I hope you'll also allow me to extend a gesture of friendship by letting me take you to tea."

"I – I don't know, Mr. Stanton. I'm not sure I should." _What am I doing?_ she thought frantically, her mind in knots. _If Robert saw us even standing here together…._ Then the memory of Robert's roughness with her the previous evening – his disregard for her attempt to push him away, the way he then restrained her, her arms over her head – washed over her again, and she felt heat rising in her face. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, inhaling slowly, then opened them, training them on Stanton's countenance. He hadn't said anything more, but an air of expectancy hung upon him like a cloak, and Cora could tell he was holding his breath for her answer. "Yes, Mr. Stanton. I will go to tea with you."

"I am delighted, Lady Grantham. Shall we?" Stanton extended his arm to her.

Cora hesitated, ostensibly to put her gloves on, still uncertain. Seeing her bruised wrist again, she raised her head with a warm smile. "Of course." She took his arm, her grasp light, careful not to walk too close to him. She did not want to indicate a sense of intimacy she did not feel.

Stanton steered her to the most expensive – and ostentatious – tea room in London. Cora began to regret accepting the invitation. If she'd hoped their tea would be surreptitious, that hope was now dashed. However, it would be rude to rescind her company now, so she took a deep breath and accompanied him into the tea room.

Once they were seated, a lovely tea between them, and they began to chat amiably about America, how they liked London, and similar subjects, Cora felt herself relax. She suspected that having a table between them helped.

Thus, the feel of his unshod foot upon her ankle about a half hour later startled her into dropping her cup, tea spilling into the saucer. Clearing her throat, she waved a waiter over to get her a new cup, as she'd cracked hers, and tucked her feet farther under her chair. She knew her face was beet red, but uttered a silent prayer of gratitude that the tablecloth went to the floor and said nothing about the incident; instead, she began telling Mr. Stanton about her daughters and her granddaughter, in answer to his previous question.

"No, you're far too young to be a grandmother," he said silkily.

"Don't be silly," she replied, pouring tea into the new cup the waiter had put in front of her. Stirring sugar into it, she remarked, "Besides, if my eldest daughter had gotten married younger, I would probably have been a grandmother many years ago." Cora's outward demeanor remained cool and calm, but, inside, her heart pounded painfully against her chest. Another scene replayed itself in her mind, of a different persistent suitor named Alistair. It all felt rather too familiar.

However, this time there was no Robert eavesdropping behind a fern to rescue her if things got out of hand.

And, unfortunately, in the next half hour, they did.

Cora's heart had finally stopped racing, soothed by his impeccable manners – apart from the foot brushing. She was in the middle of telling him a story, and she gesticulated with her hand. Immediately he interrupted her, stood and came around to her side of the table, his brow creased in concern.

"What happened here?" He took her hand in his and then turned it over gently, examining the bruise. He looked up from her wrist into her face.

Shaking her head, she stuttered a little as she replied, "N-nothing. It was nothing. I-I knocked it against something yesterday."

Stanton looked at her skeptically. "Cora, this is not a bruise from a knock. _He_ did this, didn't he? I saw how he dragged you out of the ball."

Overlooking his use of her first name, she shook her head again, more emphatically. "No," she said, her voice at least conveying much more conviction than she actually felt – as if she was trying to convince herself rather than Stanton. "My husband would never hurt me."

Taking another step closer, he studied the bruise more carefully. "You can deny it, but these are marks of rage, of someone being too forceful." He lifted his eyes to hers once more, his voice lowering. "Does he beat you?"

Cora whitened in shock. "Most certainly not." She wanted to pull her hand away, but she didn't because she needed him to understand, to get him to trust her word about Robert.

"But he did this." It wasn't a question. Stanton's eyes bore into hers.

Only after his face purpled in anger did she realize that she had given him the tiniest nod of assent, her eyes glistening with tears. Before she knew what was happening, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the bruised area on the underside of her wrist with incredible tenderness while he caressed the back of her hand, his eyes closed.

For a moment, Cora could only gape at him in disbelief. Then, opening his eyes and fixing them on hers, he said, "I will protect you, Cora; I will watch over you."

At this, Cora's calm exterior cracked and she snatched her hand away. She stood abruptly and tossed her serviette on the table, her eyes throwing out blue sparks. "_Mr_. Stanton, I will point out to you that you have gotten far too familiar." She didn't bother to lower her voice. In fact, she wanted everyone within earshot to hear. "I am Lady Grantham to you. Furthermore, it is not your job to protect or watch over me; it is my husband's. Whether Lord Grantham is doing so adequately or not is a matter for _me_ to judge – not you." Snatching up her gloves and handbag, she said, "If you will excuse me, _Mr_. Stanton, I'll be going home now, and, if you know what is good for you, you won't follow after me."

Turning on her heel, Cora marched out of the tea room and out onto the pavement. She wanted to stop and catch her breath, to collect her thoughts, both her heart and her mind racing, but she needed to put as much distance between Stanton and herself as possible. In the next street, she paused in order to hail a cab, craving its shelter around her. Once in the cab, she allowed herself to slump a trifle, her energy leaving her. She hadn't even the energy to cry.

* * *

Robert slept on and off most of the day. Every time he would wake, he would turn over and try to go back to sleep again. Because his first thought upon waking was always of her, the image of her frightened face, of her wrists captured in his hands, her shock and imploring eyes. And he wanted nothing more than sleep to erase it.

But he recognized that sleep wouldn't erase it. Nothing would ever erase those moments entirely. He knew he should get up, face her. But he couldn't. He had crossed a line, even if he hadn't gone very far; he knew even putting one foot over it changed something between them. He didn't know how to mend it – or if he could. He didn't know if it was irrevocable or not.

He recognized that hiding in his dressing room, biding sleep to bury his thoughts in silence for at least a while, would not help him. He could not figure out how far he had fallen out of favor with her, could not make a start to mending things, if he didn't get up, get dressed, and attempt to make it right.

He recognized that it might take a long time to gain her trust again. That was if she would allow him the chance to. So many things had happened between them over the past several years that he suspected she might be tired of it all, tired of giving him more chances.

He recognized all this, but he didn't recognize himself anymore.

How he'd behaved over the past several weeks was not his best self, but it was probably an extreme form of how he knew he could sometimes be. He'd been much the same during the War. But last night – especially after they'd gotten back home – that was someone he didn't recognize.

It frightened him.

It frightened him so badly that he'd had to leave the room before even trying to say anything more to her. Once in the safety of his dressing room, he'd sat and clutched at his chest, his head pounding. Perspiration poured off his face, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut in pain. He hadn't wanted her to see. Cora didn't know he had these episodes, these attacks that had come upon him in times of great upset or anger ever since fighting in the Boer War. And since he definitely didn't want her to find out this way, he'd removed himself from the scene – and made himself look callous, indifferent, perhaps even cowardly.

Because he'd wanted to conceal things that might lower her respect for him, he'd kept his feelings bottled up inside, he'd ruptured when he felt provoked – and he'd ended up doing something even worse to lower his standing with her.

Finally, unable to woo sleep any longer, Robert stood and rang for Bates. He glanced at the clock. _Bloody hell_, he thought. _I _have_ slept most of the day away_. It was the middle of dinner.

When Bates got upstairs, Robert asked to be dressed in his night clothes, as he didn't plan on interrupting (what he painfully realized must be a solitary) dinner for his wife. Once he had his night clothes and dressing gown on, he dismissed Bates with a request to bring up something for him to eat a little later. He'd had nothing since tea the day before.

Robert put on his slippers and walked downstairs with the intention of seeing if there was any post for him. Sitting beside the post was a package wrapped loosely in tissue paper, a note resting on top of it, the name of the sender in large script at the bottom. Stanton.

Waving the butler over as he was changing out plates between courses, Robert pointed to the package. "Avery, when did this arrive?"

"Not long ago, Lord Grantham. It was hand-delivered by a man. He wanted to give it to Lady Grantham personally, but I informed him that she was occupied." Avery turned his nose up a tad. "If you don't mind my saying so, my lord, it was improper of him to try to see her ladyship during the dinner hours."

Robert nodded. "Yes, well, thank you, Avery. You can go back to serving her ladyship." After Avery turned, Robert added, "And might I ask you not to mention I was down here?"

Looking over his shoulder, the butler inclined his head slightly. "Certainly, my lord."

Taking a deep breath, Robert bent closer to the note. He felt a trifle discourteous and devious to be prying, but justified this with the fact that the note was in plain sight of anyone who passed the entry table.

_Dear Lady Grantham,_

_Once again I must apologise. I got carried away at tea, and I hope we can still be friends. However, I will concede to whatever you wish.  
__Please accept this gift as a gesture of my sincere remorse for any of my actions that may have made you feel uncomfortable._

_With my affectionate regards,  
__Le_

As he read this missive, Robert grew livid. How dare he send his wife gifts! How dare he ask that they still be friends! How dare he send her affectionate regards! Robert shook from the effort to keep his temper. Standing there, staring at the parcel, realizing that his wife had been out to tea with this man, he could keep it under control no longer. Seizing the gift, he tore open the wrappings and began ripping apart the prettily appointed hat. Silk flowers and ribbon rosettes littered the carpet around his feet. He angrily rent the delicate fabric from the stiff buckram base, shredding it and letting it fall on top of the trimmings. Then he threw the base to the floor, stomped his foot upon it, and ground his slipper into it, flattening it completely.

His breath coming in uneven gasps now, he snatched up the note and tore it in half, then into quarters, screwing this up and tossing it on top of the hat base. Surveying the mess with a self-satisfied smile, Robert bounded up the stairs and into his dressing room once more.

When he got up there, however, he covered his mouth and looked at his reflection in the mirror in astonishment. The beast had returned.

Cora, having thought she heard loud noises on the stairs, told Avery she was done with her dinner and ventured into the hallway. She saw no one. Shrugging, she went down the corridor towards the foyer, having been informed that someone had left something for her. Spotting the remains of the hat on the carpet, she called out, "Avery?"

Only a moment later he appeared at her side, raising an eyebrow at the chaos.

"What happened here?"

"I don't know, your ladyship," he answered honestly.

"Avery, was his lordship down here?"

Avery paused, his mouth half open, not sure which employer to disobey.

The look on his face was all she needed. "Never mind, Avery. You can go now." Cora waved her hand at him and bent to pick up the scraps. Noticing the screwed up bit of paper, she unscrewed it and placed it upon the table in such a way that the parts fit together and she could read it.

Sighing, Cora felt a headache coming on. "Right," she said to herself.

Kneeling down again, she retrieved the hat base, straightening out the buckram enough to be able to see that it _was_ a hat base, and that the gift had been a hat. Gathering up all the scraps, she deposited them into the upside down base, using it like a bowl, and set the note on top. Then she went into the library to make a telephone call.

* * *

Robert paced his dressing room like a caged tiger. Except the subject of his ire was – this time – himself. He stopped every-so-often to run his hands through his hair, until it stood wildly on end. _What have I done?_ he kept asking himself. _What is _wrong_ with me?_

During one of these pauses he heard voices coming from the other side of the dividing door. He went closer to it, putting his ear to the panel.

"Yes, O'Brien, all of those things too. Everything," he heard Cora say.

"Certainly, my lady," came O'Brien's voice.

"Oh, you didn't get those other two cases, did you?"

"I hadn't thought you needed them, Lady Grantham."

"Yes, like I said, we're packing everything."

At this, Robert burst through the door, not bothering to knock. He gazed around at the suitcases and garments in various states of being packed. "What are you doing?"

Very calmly, Cora turned to O'Brien and said, "Might you go downstairs and get the other cases? I'll ring for you when I want you to return."

"Yes, your ladyship," O'Brien murmured, avoiding looking at Robert as she left the room.

"Cora, do you mind explaining what you're doing?" His voice was slightly panicked.

She spared a glance for him before going back to cleaning her things out of her dressing table. "I'm staying at Rosamund's for the rest of our trip."

Robert's furrowed his brow in confusion. "Rosamund isn't there, Cora. She's visiting Susan and Shrimpy for a few weeks, remember?"

Cora stopped and looked at him flatly. "I know that, Robert. I telephoned Duneagle after dinner, and she told me she would telephone her butler so he could have two rooms ready for me and arrange for the return of her cook."

Blinking in disbelief, Robert took a half step toward her. But he stopped because he didn't want to see that frightened look on her face, not knowing how close he could be to her without putting it there again. "Cora –"

Having gone back to packing the things in her dressing table, Cora dropped the comb she held in her hand and raised it to silence him. "No, Robert. I don't want any objections. I don't want anything but to be alone." Seeing he was about to speak, she shook her head. "I'm tired, Robert. I am tired, and I am hurt, and perhaps you want to fix things now, perhaps you've seen just how much damage you've done, but I just can't. It's a conversation I just can't have tonight." She turned away from him again, so he saw her in profile, but she didn't move otherwise.

Robert gazed at her longingly, his heart weighted down by the trembling of her body he could now detect, by the slope of her shoulders that bowed as if under a terribly heavy burden, by the shadows under her eyes and the droop of her mouth. He wanted to go to her, to wipe away the pain he knew he'd caused. But he didn't know how.

"Why can't you stay here?" He whispered the words, uncertain if she would even answer them.

Cora lifted her head, her hands grasping the back of the chair. The impassive expression had been replaced by one of deep sadness and defeat. "Because I don't know you anymore. I can't stay here with you when you're like this. I can't pretend that what happened last night, that _that_ –" she nodded toward the bedroom door – "was in any way acceptable. You've never been violent, Robert, not to your loved ones. I might have thought it was a one time thing, but then I saw the ruined hat." She nodded again toward the hat base with the scraps on the bed. "And earlier I might have been willing to talk about it, but you shut me out. Those flowers arrived for me this morning, and I thought maybe they were from you. But I was wrong. I thought you would join me for luncheon or even after in the drawing room, but, again, I was wrong. And, then, dinner alone." Silent tears began streaking down her cheeks. "At least at Rosamund's I will expect to be alone, and I can't be disappointed when you aren't there." She began to whisper, losing control of her voice. "And I won't have to worry about your temper."

Watching her, listening to her, Robert knew she was right. The weight in his heart grew heavier. He stared at her, his own tears stinging his eyes and a lump forming in his throat.

Cora swallowed and wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. The sight of her bruised wrist cut at Robert's heart. He closed his eyes against it.

"I'll return to Downton with you on Friday, and then I have some decisions to make."

Robert's eyes flew open. Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse, the matter-of-fact tone of her voice, not to mention the words themselves, struck him again. She'd confirmed his worst fears. He felt physically ill. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Decisions?"

She'd started packing once more, avoiding looking at him. "Yes. I don't know if this is something that is fleeting or if there has been a complete change of character in you, Robert. I don't want to do anything rash, but I'm not sure I can live with this violent person who won't confide in me, won't let me help him with whatever it is that is affecting him so greatly." Here she stopped what she was doing and met his steady gaze. "I won't live in silence or in fear, Robert. I won't."

He didn't know what to say, how to react. Anger began to bubble up in him again, but he shook himself to try to calm it. The gravity of the situation – which he'd already thought grave enough – helped him suppress his rage. "Cora, what do you want me to say?"

At this, Cora's eyes turned hard as flints, and she walked across the room to the bell. Pulling on the cord, she said, "Robert, you are an adult, not a child. I am not your nanny or governess. If you don't know what to say, then I am not the person to ask for help." The annoyance she felt now manifested itself in her voice. "You're going to have to figure this one out on your own. I've spent weeks now trying to be what you needed to get over whatever this is, getting nothing in return for my efforts. And now it's quite clear that I don't know what you need. And I'm exhausted from trying."

Robert blinked back tears. He knew he had been dismissed. With a small, "I'm so sorry, Cora," he turned and retired to his dressing room, feeling as if his whole world had just come crashing down around him.

* * *

"You wanna revelation  
You wanna get right  
But it's a conversation  
I just can't have tonight  
You want a revelation  
Some kind of resolution  
You want a revelation

And I'd do anything  
To make you stay  
No light, no light  
No light  
Tell me what you want me to say"


	4. Would you leave me?

After she left O'Brien to unpack her things in one of Rosamund's beautifully appointed guest rooms, Cora wandered downstairs and into the dimly lit sitting room. The housekeeper had uncovered the furniture here for the convenience of their unexpected guest, but, as empty as Cora felt, only one piece of furniture held any attraction for her at the moment. Once at the drinks cabinet, she inspected the bottles as if making a vital decision. Finally, she settled on a whiskey and soda, and, quickly concocting the drink, sat down in one of the plush chairs to sip at it. Cora wasn't much of a drinker, but she needed to fill the emptiness with something. Perhaps this would do.

Midnight came and went. O'Brien had finished unpacking at least an hour before, but her mistress never came upstairs to get ready for bed as she indicated she would. Concerned, O'Brien cautiously ventured down the main stairs, knowing it was a part of the house in which she shouldn't be. Not that things like that had stopped her before when she'd a mind to do something. Luckily, she encountered no one.

Peeking into the sitting room, O'Brien saw Cora fast asleep in the chair, her head against a cushion, an empty glass on the table beside her. She looked so serene – more than she had in days – resting that way that O'Brien decided not to wake her. She knew that if her mistress wanted her, she would ring. The lady's maid crept downstairs toward her own room in the servants' part of the house, shaking her head. She didn't know exactly what was going on (Cora not being inclined to confide in her as much as she used to after their misunderstanding of the year before), but she knew it must be something very bad to make her part willingly from her husband.

* * *

It wasn't until he woke a few hours later that Robert went next door to his wife's bedroom. Their bedroom – although he hadn't shared it with her even once on this trip. Switching on a lamp, he gazed around the room in despair, peering in the wardrobe and the washroom, her dressing table and then her bedside table. Everything of hers was gone – except the mutilated hat and the vase of flowers.

Sitting down next to her bedside table, Robert spotted the wrinkled note beside the vase. Curious, he picked it up and read Stanton's apology for the night before. Robert stared at the roses, seething. He lifted a hand to shunt the vase off the table, wanting to break it – then suddenly froze, his hand in the air. It was exactly the type of behavior of which Cora had been frightened. Lowering his hand, he read the note once more before tossing it on the table and putting his head in his hands.

Robert realized that the note, the flowers, should have been from him.

Slowly, painfully, a few things began to click into place. But there was so much to think about and the press of her absence overwhelmed him. Turning off the lamp, Robert curled himself into the fetal position on her side of the bed, pulling her pillow to his face and chest. Despite the fact that the bed linens were changed every day while they were in residence, he could still smell the faint scent of her perfume through the pillow case. Hot tears rushed down his face as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Cora was startled awake by a cough. Opening her eyes, she saw by the light in the sitting room that it had to be mid-morning. "Yes?" She blinked against the daylight, her head pounding.

Rosamund's butler approached her from where he'd been standing in the doorway. "This came for you just now, your ladyship."

Taking the note from the salver, Cora said, "Might you bring me a glass of water and some aspirin?"

The butler inclined his head and left the room to fulfill her request as Cora opened the envelope.

Her eyes widened as she read and re-read the missive.

"How did this letter arrive?" Cora asked the butler when he returned.

"A man brought it, Lady Grantham," he answered as she swallowed the aspirin and drank deeply of the water.

"Did he give his name?"

"I believe he said he was a Mr. Stanton, my lady. He wanted to come in, but I told him you were not receiving guests this morning."

Cora began to tremble. "Yes, thank you. And might you continue to say the same to anyone who comes to the door, unless I've told you I'm expecting someone? For the rest of the afternoon as well? And especially that man?"

The butler could sense something amiss, but remained impassive. "Yes, your ladyship."

After the butler left, Cora read the note yet another time, putting a hand to her mouth. _How does he know I'm here?_ she asked herself. For the note read:

_Dear Lady Grantham,_

_It pains me that I haven't heard from you after yesterday, especially now that it seems you _have_ made a judgment concerning your husband. Please know that I wait. I will wait forever, watching over you._

_With deepest affection,  
__Le_

Letting the paper fall to the floor, Cora closed her eyes, her head still thumping painfully from her indulgences of the previous evening. She needed breakfast, a long bath, and a friendly face. Opening her eyes, she went over to Rosamund's desk and picked up the telephone receiver, asking for a London number.

A few moments later, she put the receiver back in its cradle, feeling slightly better and going off to make the other two things happen.

* * *

Robert sat at his desk in the library, his head in his hands. He'd gotten up rather early, having slept most of the previous day, gotten dressed, eaten breakfast, and wandered into the library, unsure what else to do. He'd stared at the drinks cabinet for what must have been fifteen minutes before deciding that it wouldn't help. He didn't need to drown his thoughts in Scotch. He needed a clear head. Because he knew he had to act before Friday.

However, as he sat there, he felt more confused than ever. His heart ached and his head ached and his stomach twisted itself into knots at the thought that he could lose her.

And it would be no one's fault but his own.

He didn't know the words to say or what to do. He couldn't pick out exactly what had gone so terribly wrong. And once he did – if he did – would she even allow him to explain? To try to make things right again?

Robert heard the telephone next to him ring, but he couldn't be bothered to answer it. The only person he wanted to hear from was the only person he was sure not to be at the end of the line.

About ten minutes later, Avery appeared in the doorway, having picked up the telephone in his pantry. "My lord, it's Mr. Murray on the telephone. He said you missed your meeting with him yesterday and wondered if you would be seeing him today instead. Will you speak with him or shall I give him a message for you?"

Not looking up, Robert spoke through his hands, his voice muffled. "You can tell Murray to go to the devil for all I care."

Avery shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was almost certain his employer didn't want him to actually say that to the solicitor. "Pardon me, my lord?"

Shaking himself, Robert lifted his head from his hands to look at the butler. "I apologize, Avery. Tell Murray that I'll meet with him tomorrow morning, that I'm ill."

Nodding, Avery exited the library.

Robert turned back to his desk, his eyes landing on a framed photograph of his wife's smiling face. He picked it up and traced his finger over her lips and cheeks, her forehead and nose through the glass. The thing was, Murray _could_ go to the devil. All of it could. None of it meant anything without her.

But he'd put the estate ahead of her, taking for granted that she'd always be there.

He'd put the estate ahead of her – and he'd put himself ahead of it all.

"_Pride goeth before the fall,"_ he thought. And how far he'd fallen. Putting her photograph carefully back in its place, he leaned down and hit his forehead hard upon the desk. Then again, and again. He fell still, his head resting on the wooden surface, his hands on either side of it, fingers splayed.

As much as Robert hated Stanton, he'd been completely right about one thing: _what a fool I've been._

Breathing deeply, attempting to order his thoughts, Robert blinked back tears. Whenever he needed to work through something, he would normally go to Cora to help him. But, because of his stubborn pride, he hadn't sought her help over the past weeks. And now… she wasn't here. So he did the only other thing he could think of – he called up her words to him over the past few days, starting with last night. Once he'd begun, they came to him thick and fast, each striking him with fuller meaning than they had the first time: _You're going to have to figure this one out on your own…. Robert, you are an adult, not a child…. I'm not sure I can live with this violent person who won't confide in me, won't let me help him with whatever it is that is affecting him so greatly…. At least at Rosamund's I will expect to be alone, and I can't be disappointed when you aren't there. And I won't have to worry about your temper…. I might have been willing to talk about it, but you shut me out…. I am tired, and I am hurt, and perhaps you want to fix things now, perhaps you've seen just how much damage you've done…. I don't know you anymore…._

And then her words from the train: _I didn't want to spend the evening alone with you when you're like this. It's different at home and others are there, but I can't do this tonight…._ _Will you let me know when you've decided to be the man you were not even a month ago?..._

His mind wandered to the month before, remembering their trip into the country, how carefree they'd been. _Well, not entirely carefree_, he thought, smiling a little at the memory. He'd presented Cora with tickets for the Orient Express – a trip to Venice – for her birthday gift. She'd been so happy, and his heart ached to think that he had told her they'd plan their trip when they got back to Downton from the country. She'd brought the subject up a few times that first week, but he'd brushed it off, consumed in his own stupid insecurities. He wondered now if he would ever get to take her there.

Because he wanted to take her there. He wanted to take her anywhere and everywhere she'd want to go. He wanted to figure out how to get back to the place in their marriage they'd finally reached at long last. They had grown together over the past year – the past several years. They'd been tested. But they'd weathered the storms and become stronger – he'd thought unbreakable.

His mind came back around to his taking her – them – for granted. He needed her like he needed air; he couldn't breathe without her.

And he realized that if he'd felt like he'd lost an arm or a leg in the way Downton seemed to be slipping away from him, that if she left – he'd lose his heart, his lungs. If he'd felt invisible because his time as head of the estate appeared to be waning and Matthew and Tom's waxing – she had still seen him. She had reached out – he only just now realized how many times and in how many ways – and he'd kept pushing her away. Shutting her out. Staying silent. Becoming irritable and angry.

Instead of turning to her (as it was clear to him now she'd wanted him to do), he'd turned away from her. Instead of bridging the distance between them, he'd increased it. Instead of communicating with her – whether with words or without – he'd been silent. They'd barely been together since their trip to the country, and he'd spent more nights than he cared to admit sleeping in his dressing room. He couldn't remember the last time he complimented her – or even truly smiled at her.

Lifting his head from the desk, he rubbed it, wincing. If this had been only about his behavior on one horrible night, it might be different. He heard her words again: _I might have been willing to talk about it, but you shut me out…. I don't know you anymore…._

She hadn't meant just that night, had she? That was simply the straw that broke the camel's back. It had shown her – had shown them both – just how far beyond himself he'd gone.

Then a revelation came to him, something he should have realized weeks ago: he was lost, and he wasn't sure how to get back. And there was one thing he knew for certain. He would never find his way back to himself without her. He'd been so afraid of losing the Earl of Grantham that he'd lost Robert Crawley, husband and father and grandfather, along the way – and had never even known it.

But Cora had. She'd seen it happening and had tried to help him. His worst sin was that he had refused to let her.

He could only hope that she would forgive him and let them start again, that she would help him find his way back. It was now clear to him that being Earl of Grantham was nothing compared to being Robert Crawley. And at being Robert Crawley he had failed even more miserably than he had at being Earl of Grantham.

It was a far greater loss. Because losing Robert Crawley also meant losing her.

He couldn't lose her again.

With these things fixed in his mind, Robert stood. They were still in quite a jumble, and he still did not know what he would say to Cora when he saw her – _if _he saw her. He felt a stab of pain in his heart at this. He couldn't think "if." If he did, it would tear him to bits. He needed a walk to clear his head, to put things in order, to find the right words.

Stepping into the hallway, he went to the foyer. He heard the telephone ring and rolled his eyes, thinking it was Murray again. He let Avery go into the library to answer it while he got his hat and put it on, noticing a bruise purpling on his forehead. _I deserve it,_ he thought. _That and more_.

"Lord Grantham?" Avery stood just outside the library door. "Lord Henry for you on the telephone. Will you take it or shall I give him a message?"

"No, thank you, Avery. I'll speak with him." Robert bustled past him and picked up the receiver, more relieved than he thought when he heard Henry's voice at the other end of the line.

"Robert, Margaret accepted a last minute dinner invitation, so I thought you might like to join me here for dinner – keep an old chap company." His tone was light-hearted, but Robert could tell that he knew something was wrong in the Crawley house.

"Yes, actually, I'd like that, Henry. There are a few things I want to discuss with you, if you don't mind."

"Certainly. Capital, Robert. I'll be expecting you then."

"See you tonight." Robert put down the receiver and went into the hallway. "Avery, I'll be dining out tonight. And right now I'm going for a walk." He paused for a moment just as Avery was opening the door. He lowered his voice. "If that man from last night comes here, turn him away. And if he asks for her ladyship, do not tell him where she's gone. I wouldn't trust that man as far as I could throw him." With Avery's nod, Robert left the house, intent on figuring out the right words to say to Cora.

* * *

Having spent all afternoon hiding in Rosamund's sitting room, Cora was relieved to finally hear the dressing gong. She'd had no fewer than nine notes from Stanton brought to her over the course of the day. After the fourth, she'd refused to open them any more.

Thus, when O'Brien held yet another envelope out to her, Cora shook her head. "I don't want that."

O'Brien had seen the strange man lurking around the bushes and did not like the looks of him. "But, your ladyship, it's not from _him_." She held up a second thing: a single rose.

At the sight of it, she knew who the note was from. That was one of old Mr. Molesley's roses. He'd shared them with the Crawleys, and now they bloomed both at Downton and in front of their London House. Cora's breath caught. "Oh. Thank you then, O'Brien." Putting the rose aside, she took the envelope and opened it while O'Brien readied her evening attire. Her heart leapt again at the words on the page, scrawled in Robert's appalling, yet beloved, handwriting.

_Cora, _it read, _I didn't know what to say to you then, but I know what to say to you now. Please, my love, let me speak with you. Give me a time and a place, and I will be there. Robert_

After the "please" – before the endearment – there was a large blot, as if he'd kept the pen resting there, uncertain whether to write "my love" or not. But he had. Cora wasn't sure whether the phrase cut her deeper – or might be the beginning of healing. There was only one way to find out.

Once downstairs, she handed an envelope to Rosamund's butler to have delivered for her. She disappeared into the sitting room to await her guest for the evening.

Only a little time passed before Margaret swept into the room, filling Cora with a sense of relief and calm she hadn't felt in days. Taking her hands and kissing both her cheeks, Margaret asked, "Cora, darling, was that Le I saw on the pavement across the street from here?"

Cora heaved a deep sigh, her face etched with worry and – yes – fear. "He's been in the vicinity of the house all day, Margaret, and to be quite honest, I'm frightened."

At Margaret's incredulous expression, Cora handed her the stack of notes, both opened and unopened. As her friend scanned over the lines on the pages, her face took on a look of shock. "Cora, I'm so sorry. I didn't know he could be like this. I'd heard about the tea room incident yesterday, but I thought perhaps he would leave you be after that. This is madness!"

Nodding, Cora sat closer to her friend on the settee. "I'm afraid to leave the house – even if I were inclined to do so."

Margaret put her hand over Cora's and gave her a tender look. "Darling, why _are_ you here? What's happened? Robert's been jealous before, he's very protective of you…." She trailed off as she saw her friend shake her head, tears pooling in her eyes.

"No, Margaret," she whispered. "That's not all of it." And, needing to tell someone – someone who'd known Robert even longer than she had, someone who was her dear friend – she poured her heart out to the sympathetic woman who clasped her hand and wiped her tears as they fell.

Turning Cora's hand over to see the extent of the bruising on her wrist when she'd finished speaking, Margaret furrowed her brow. "Cora, I never would have thought him capable of this. He loves you so much."

"That's the thing. I'm not sure it _is_ him. Not really. If you'd seen his face once he realized what he was doing…." She shook her head and grasped Margaret's hand tighter. "I don't know how to describe it. He was astonished at himself – horrified." She kept shaking her head. "It wasn't him, Margaret. It wasn't him." She looked down, fresh tears falling. "I just want my Robert back."

Margaret moved closer to Cora and wrapped her other arm around her in an embrace. "He'll come back, Cora. He will."

"What if he doesn't?" came Cora's whisper from where her head rested on Margaret's shoulder.

Uncertain what else to say, Margaret simply held her friend, letting her cry, hoping that Robert would come to his senses soon. Before Cora fell apart completely.

* * *

"Robert! Come in, have a drink!" Henry came up to him when he entered the drawing room, wringing his hand and clapping him on the back.

"Alright, Henry, don't mind if I do." Robert made himself comfortable while Henry poured him a Scotch and then handed it to him.

Picking up his own drink, Henry sat across from Robert. They drank and chit-chatted in a stilted manner, both knowing that they were avoiding the subject foremost on their minds. Neither knew how to broach it with the other; Henry because he didn't want to pry, Robert because he wasn't sure if Cora would like him to share their private affairs with his friend.

The conversation continued in the same way over dinner, until, finally, over brandy and cigars, Henry ventured a casual comment. "So I heard about an incident that happened at a tea room yesterday afternoon."

Robert's eyes flew up from where he'd been brooding over his brandy glass. "An incident? What sort of incident?" His heart sped up.

Henry puffed a bit at his cigar before answering as calmly as possible, "A certain lady told a certain man that he was getting too familiar with her and should remember his place. Then she stormed out."

Staring at Henry, whose eyes hadn't left his own brandy glass, Robert swallowed hard. "She did?" His voice held a note of relief.

Then Henry looked at his friend, his forehead creased. "You didn't know, did you?"

"I knew she'd had tea with him, and that something must have happened, but I didn't know what." Robert held his breath.

"Well, apparently he kissed her wrist and told her he would protect her. She didn't like that. Not at all." He tapped cigar ash into the receptacle and took another drink of his brandy. "She told him not to follow her if he knew what was good for him."

Robert exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in relief. He'd been afraid that she might run from him – to Stanton. To be honest, it worried him still.

"You never asked where Margaret went to dinner," Henry nudged.

Opening his eyes, Robert rested them on Henry's face. Sipping his brandy he said, "No, I didn't. Where did she go?" He thought he knew though.

"Cora invited her. At your sister's house." Henry stopped there. If Robert wanted to talk about it, he would. If he didn't, Henry would say nothing more.

Robert looked past Henry, shaking his head. "I've been such a fool, Henry. A fool, and an ass. And worse." He focused his eyes again on his friend's. If there was anyone he would talk to outside of his family – and perhaps even above some people inside his family – it was Henry. Besides, it was one reason he'd accepted the dinner invitation, wasn't it? So, he said the thing of which he was most ashamed first. "I hurt her." Tears sprang to his eyes to admit this.

Henry almost dropped his cigar. "Good God, Robert, what do you mean, you 'hurt' her?"

Robert didn't tell him everything. There were certain things he wanted to keep for Cora's ears alone. But he told Henry enough for his eyes to grow wide and his cigar and brandy to be forgotten.

"I figured out what to say to her. I sent her a note saying I wanted to see her, to talk to her…. But, Henry, what if she won't meet me? What if I've already lost her?"

Seeing the pain and fear in Robert's eyes, Henry sighed, sympathizing with him. "I'm sure she'll meet you, Robert. She said she would have been willing to talk to you yesterday, didn't she?"

Robert nodded. "But – but what if I do meet her, and – and…." He couldn't even say it.

Henry gave him a small smile. "A step at a time, old chap. A step at a time."

Nodding again, Robert finished his brandy and stubbed out his cigar. "If you don't mind, Henry, I'm awfully tired. I think I'll go home and try to sleep." If he were honest, he didn't want to meet Margaret coming back from dinner with Cora.

Rising, Henry put out his own cigar. "I think that's a good idea, Robert. Get some rest. Things will look better in the morning."

Sighing heavily, Robert wrung Henry's hand. "That's what Cora's always saying. I hope it's true. I'm not sure how things could get much worse."

When Robert got home, he wearily handed Avery his hat and gloves. He was surprised to be handed an envelope in return. "This arrived for you whilst you were gone, Lord Grantham," Avery said.

One look at the handwriting on the front told Robert it was from his wife. "Thank you, Avery. Please let Bates know I'm ready for him." He stared at the envelope.

"Yes, my lord."

Robert went upstairs, clutching the note to his chest. Once in his dressing room, he opened the envelope with trembling hands. In his wife's neat, careful script were just five words. But he wasn't sure he'd ever been more relieved to see any five words in his entire life: _Hyde Park, tomorrow, three o'clock_.

* * *

"Would you leave me,  
If I told you what I've done?  
Would you leave me,  
If I told you what I've become?"


	5. Cause it's so easy to say it to a crowd

Bates dropped Robert's cufflink for the third time.

"I'll get it," Robert said, bending down and scooping it up. Handing it to his valet, he shook his head. "I apologize, Bates. I can't stop fidgeting."

"It's alright, my lord." He worked on the cufflink again. "You still have an hour until your meeting with Mr. Murray."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that. I suppose that will pass the time…." Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Robert grimaced, having forgotten about his bruise from the day before. Then he began to mutter under his breath.

Bates kept his own counsel while his employer muttered. At least when he was muttering he was still.

After he was dressed and had had breakfast – of which he ate very little, his nerves being what they were – Robert decided to walk to Murray's office. He wasn't sure he could sit still for the entire meeting. He couldn't keep his mind on anything very long before it returned to the note: _Hyde Park, tomorrow, three o'clock_. He kept checking his pocket watch, wondering how time could go so slowly. He was hot and cold at the same time, and if he thought too hard about how things might turn out, he started to shake uncontrollably.

Robert had no idea how he was going to make it to three o'clock.

Once in Murray's office, Robert thought he might crawl out of his skin he was so anxious. Murray's mouth moved, but Robert couldn't make sense of the words. He attempted to listen to them, to take in what the solicitor said, but the more he tried, the more his mind would wander away. He wondered how she would look at him. He wondered what she would be wearing, and if she would be wearing the perfume he gave her. He wondered if he'd be able to get out what he needed to say to her, and if the words really were the right ones. He wondered –

"Lord Grantham? Are you alright?"

Murray's louder voice, directly addressing him, broke through Robert's reverie. His head had turned to where he was staring out the window instead of looking at Murray. He brought his eyes back to the man on the other side of the desk. "Pardon me, Murray." He cleared his throat. "No, I'm perfectly well. But, would you tell me the time?"

"Er, it's nearly noon, your lordship." His eyes had flicked down to the watch chain running across Robert's waistcoat. "Perhaps we should defer this meeting until tomorrow? If you'll forgive me for pointing it out, my lord, you seem completely preoccupied."

"Well, I suppose I'm a bit distracted, yes. I do apologize, Murray. Tomorrow will be fine." He stood, wrung the solicitor's hand, and departed, leaving Murray completely dumbfounded at his strange behavior this week.

Robert wove through the pedestrians on the sidewalk, wringing his hands behind his back, hardly looking where he was going. Several acquaintances endeavored to hail him, but he didn't hear them. He knew he should probably go back to the house for luncheon, but his stomach was so unsettled that just the thought of it made him sick. He passed by various shops and deliberated over whether he should bring her flowers or jewelry or a even new gown.

Ultimately, he decided against any of it. It would be him, just him, offering his heart to her once more.

He only hoped she would accept it.

* * *

"Why won't he leave?" Cora stood a little to the side of the upstairs hall window, which faced onto the street. The drapes fell strategically so they wouldn't disclose either of their figures to anyone below.

"We could telephone the police, my lady," O'Brien suggested, thinking she'd wanted to do that yesterday.

"No, no. I don't want to get police involved. Strictly speaking, he hasn't done anything worse than loitering on the street and being a dreadful nuisance." She turned her eyes from the crack in the drapes to O'Brien. "How many notes has he sent already today?"

"I don't like to say. It's more than yesterday's number already, my lady."

Cora sighed and looked at the hall clock. A little after 2:30. "I should go. I don't want to be late."

"Please, your ladyship. I don't like to think of you going alone." O'Brien's voice was edged with concern.

"Don't be silly," Cora said with more calmness than she felt. "I'll be in the motor car with Rosamund's chauffeur, and then I'll be in Hyde Park with plenty of people milling around. What is Mr. Stanton going to do? Kidnap me?" She chuckled nervously.

O'Brien stared at her, failing to see any humor in the situation. "My lady, I still don't think it's a good idea."

Walking toward the bedroom to get her handbag and hat, Cora paused and turned to say, "Within a half hour I'll have Lord Grantham with me. All will be well." She willed herself to believe it in her own mind too. Smiling, she retrieved her things and went downstairs, steeling herself for the afternoon.

As soon as Rosamund's motor pulled up in front of the house, Cora practically flew from the door and into the back seat, the chauffeur having gotten instructions to be as quick as possible about getting her bundled in and on their way. She watched from the rear window as Stanton attempted to hail a cab. Just as he'd done so successfully, her own conveyance rounded a corner. She turned back toward the front and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She hoped they wouldn't catch up to them, but she couldn't think about it even if they did. There were more important things to think about.

Extracting Robert's note from her handbag, she unfolded it and read it for what had to have been the hundredth time since she'd received it the previous afternoon. She placed a finger over the blot before "my love," smiling a little. If it was a sign of his hesitation, as she thought, then she found it a good omen. His uncertainty proved that he was thinking about what she might need or want – rather than what he did. It was something he hadn't done in weeks.

Cora tucked the note back into her bag when the motor slowed upon its approach to the park. She raised her hand to her blouse front, certain that anyone would be able to tell from a glance just how hard her heart was beating. Would her own beloved Robert be there in Hyde Park? Or this stranger who seemed to have replaced him?

"Only one way to find out," she whispered to herself as the chauffeur opened the door.

* * *

Robert could think of only one place of true significance to the pair of them in Hyde Park. It was the site of his proposal to her, close to the Boy and Dolphin Fountain. Thus, entering via Park Lane, Robert made his way there.

She wasn't there. Robert pulled his watch out of his pocket and stared at it. Five minutes until three. He began to pace to and fro near the fountain, knowing he couldn't be still until she arrived.

As the minutes crawled by, Robert became more agitated. _What if she meant me to meet her elsewhere?_ he thought. _What if I'm supposed to scour Hyde Park looking for her?_ _What if-_ He stopped pacing, fastening his eyes upon his wife and breathing a sigh of relief.

Walking toward her, Robert observed that Cora appeared even more nervous than he was. She kept looking over her shoulder, as if someone might be following her.

"Cora," he said softly once he stood in front of her, gazing on her tenderly.

Placing her hand over her chest again – even though her heart was now up in her throat – Cora simply said, "Robert," in a hesitant voice. Seeing him standing there, looking at her with such a familiar expression, his love for her in his eyes…. She forgot all about the possibility of Stanton's having followed her.

"I have so much to tell you. Please, can we go somewhere private and talk?" Robert held out his hand to her.

Cora stared at his hand for a few seconds and then took a step back, setting her jaw stubbornly. She'd thought of this possibility, and she'd decided that anything he had to say to her could be said in public. She shook her head. "No. We can speak here."

Robert glanced around at the people strolling by. They probably wouldn't pay them any mind, but he blushed to think someone might overhear them. "I would rather not, Cora. Please, come with me?" His eyes beseeched her.

Waiting for him to lose his temper, Cora dug in her heels, shaking her head again. "No. I chose this place for a reason, Robert."

But Robert only came forward a step and placed a gentle hand on her arm. Cora flinched, which made his heart constrict painfully, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she looked down at his hand, where he lightly rubbed her arm, repeating in almost a whisper, "Please."

Raising her head again, Cora met his eyes. She had not even made a decision whether to let him take her somewhere or not when a voice rang out, "Unhand her this instant, you brute!"

Both Robert and Cora's heads jerked toward the sound to see Stanton bearing down upon them. He was with them before they knew it, pushing himself between the two, Cora behind his back.

"Stanton," Robert growled, his countenance darkening. "Get away from my wife."

Stanton squared his shoulders and thrust out his chest. "I won't. You were going to hurt her again, and I cannot let that happen."

"I was going to do no such thing." Robert's face turned red.

Cora backed away from Stanton while his attention was elsewhere and then sidled over to see what might transpire, unsure what to do. She was still safe while Robert was with her; he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Of that, she was absolutely certain. And so, for now, she held her breath and watched.

"She won't go with you anywhere; you don't deserve her!" Stanton shouted, waving a finger in Robert's face.

Robert stared at Stanton's finger, then past it to Stanton. He balled his fists up at his sides, ready to punch him. Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Cora, standing to the side, putting a hand over her mouth in anticipation. One glance at her, and he remembered why he was there in the first place.

Breathing heavily with the effort of keeping his arms to his sides, Robert fixed his eyes once again upon his opponent and said deliberately in a voice that he knew would carry," No, you're right. I don't deserve her. I've never deserved her, but I deserve her less for the way I've behaved toward her in the past few weeks and particularly in the past few days. She deserves better than this bumbling fool standing before you, who puts his estate before his wife and family, and puts his own stubborn pride above it all. She deserves someone who keeps trying to win her favor over and over again, whose most important job is to make her happy, not one who takes her for granted." He moved his eyes from Stanton to Cora. "Because that's what I've done. I've taken her for granted. All the times I've almost lost her, you would think I'd have learned – learned that losing her would be worse than losing Downton. Because I love her, and she is my heart. Furthermore, she's trusted me with hers, whether I deserve it or not. I should be thinking less of how to be a good guardian of the estate, which is in perfectly capable hands, and worry more about how to be a good guardian of the greatest gift I could have ever been given: her life, her love, her heart." He turned back to Stanton, who, miraculously, had let Robert continue without interruption. "No, I don't deserve her. But caring for her is the only thing in this world that makes me whole. I've forgotten that, and because of it, I've forgotten myself."

Cora stood there, gazing raptly at him while he spoke, her eyes locked with his when he'd looked at her. Tears fell down her face. She was moved by his words and the evident feeling behind them. And it moved her even more that she knew that it was what he'd wanted to say to her in private; yet, instead of simply knocking Stanton over and taking her away to tell her, he'd proclaimed to everyone within earshot how much he couldn't bear to be without her.

Stanton shook his head. "It's a pretty little speech, Lord Grantham, but it's rubbish and it means nothing," he snarled. Then he spun around to Cora. "Come along, my dear."

Before either of them knew what was happening, Stanton reached over and grabbed Cora's upper arm. Ignoring her startled outcry, he gripped her hard and jerked her toward the interior of the park, pulling her along the path so quickly she kept tripping, gravel and dirt flying in all directions.

Stunned, Robert stared after them, his mouth gaping open. Then Cora yelled, "Let me go!" Looking behind her, she cried out, "Robert!"

The fear in her voice spurred him into action. He ran as best he could along the path, Stanton and Cora not too far ahead of him now. Cora stretched her hand out behind her while Stanton dragged her along, pain and fear written on her face. "Robert!"

"Cora!" He sped up, willing himself to reach her, almost able to touch her fingers once they'd gotten nearly to the Huntress Fountain.

Realizing that Robert was hot in pursuit, Stanton halted suddenly, spinning around and pressing Cora's back against his front. His hand still encircling her arm, he held her in a viselike grip, his arm across her chest.

Robert held Cora's eyes with his own, trying to give her a sense of calm he did not feel, and weighed his options. It was apparent to him that Stanton was unstable. As much as he wanted to hurt the bastard, he didn't want Cora to end up injured in the melee.

He spoke as evenly as possible. "Stanton, think of what you're doing. You're hurting her ladyship, and you're frightening her. Is that any way to win her friendship?" Inside, Robert fumed.

"I don't want her friendship," Stanton spat. "I want her to be mine."

Cora's eyes grew wide with fear. She knew Robert couldn't act when Stanton held her in front of him. She realized she would have to be the one to change the status quo. So, acting on instinct, she picked up her foot, then brought the heel of her shoe down onto Stanton's foot, grinding it as forcefully as she could. With a yelp of surprise and pain, he released her, and she ran, gravel scattering, to take shelter behind Robert.

Robert, for his part, watched this display with a sense of pride and relief. Not taking his eyes off Stanton, he turned his head a bit to ask, "Cora, are you hurt?"

"No. Not anything more than a few bruises," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and standing on tiptoe to peek over one of them at Stanton.

As Stanton regained his bearings, Robert said to him in a loud voice, "I suggest you make yourself scarce, Stanton, before I summon the police. I would take care of you myself, but out of respect for my wife, I will deny myself that particular pleasure."

"Is this the same man who told me he would break both of my hands?" Stanton let out a bark of laughter and then approached Robert, shoving him hard in the chest.

Robert stood his ground. He started to grow purple with the effort of containing his temper, but he moved one hand up and gently covered one of Cora's where it rested on his shoulder. "I won't fight you. I have what I need." He rubbed a thumb with a feather-light touch over the back of her wrist, not realizing it was the one that still carried a bruise.

This only made Stanton laugh derisively again. "So this is the Lord Grantham of whom I was warned – the one who is so famously protective of his wife? Honestly, my dear," Stanton addressed Cora now, "I don't see what you see in him."

Cora hissed in Robert's ear, "Hit him."

"No, Cora," Robert said over his shoulder, still keeping a wary eye on the man in front of him. "I refuse to use violence. It's not worth losing you over."

Stanton stared at them, his face twisted into a strange look of bewilderment.

"Robert, please. You won't lose me. He frightens me, and I don't think he'll leave us alone otherwise." Cora's voice sounded small, strained.

Spinning around just a bit toward her, taking his eyes off Stanton for the first time, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Robert!" Cora squawked, ducking and urging him down with her. For she'd seen Stanton pull his arm back for a punch.

Realizing what had happened, Robert put a hand to Cora's waist and pushed her away from him in the gentlest manner possible. "That's it," he said. "Having a go at a man when he's not looking is simply cowardly. I'm finished with you, Stanton."

At this point, quite a crowd had gathered around the fountain. Cora stepped back into it, her hands over her mouth and her heart racing, her blue eyes wide.

Stanton came at him again, but Robert was ready for him this time. Grabbing his hand and wrist, he twisted his arm and forced it behind his back. Keeping his arm there with one hand, Robert seized him by the shoulder and growled in his ear. "You have no idea who you're dealing with, Stanton. I'm giving you one last chance to leave us alone. Approach either one of us again – or even send my wife so much as a note – and I'll break you in half. Now, I think you need to cool off a bit."

Without waiting for a response from Stanton, Robert pitched him into the fountain, quickly stepping back from the resulting splash.

As the crowd applauded and Stanton sputtered, wiping water out of his face, Cora ran to Robert and threw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Sliding his own arms around her waist, he held her close and pressed a kiss to her temple, making soothing noises.

"Robert?" Cora asked, her voice muffled against his throat. "Will you take me home now?"

"To Rosamund's?" he inquired, not wishing to assume anything.

"No, darling. To our own house. I'll telephone O'Brien to bring everything back."

He could feel her tears warm against his neck now. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?" he whispered tentatively.

She nodded, then said, "Yes, you're forgiven. I love you, I'm sorry –"

At this he pulled back from her, shaking his head. "No, Cora. There is only one of us who needs to apologize here, and that's me. And if you want me to I'll spend the rest of my life apologizing to you for be-"

Here Cora covered his lips with hers, forgetting where they were, that they were surrounded by an audience, and that Stanton was struggling to get out of the fountain. Fortunately, someone who had witnessed the beginning of the altercation, back at the Boy and Dolphin fountain, had done what Robert had threatened to do originally and summoned a policeman. He waited by the fountain to take Stanton by the collar and escort him out of the park.

For his part, Robert had no wish to break the kiss, no matter who watched, nor how many. His heart was lighter than it had been in weeks; he had Cora in his arms and she was coming home with him.

Finally, a huzzah rose from the crowd. They apparently had decided that the kiss had gone on long enough to merit some sort of praise. Laughing now, the couple ended the kiss and smiled at one another. Robert sobered first, moving his hands up to caress her cheeks. "Cora, I know it will take me a long time to build up your trust again, but I want to try. I really can't be without you. I love you more than life itself."

Tears threatened to fall down Cora's face again, but somehow she managed to keep them in check. "I love you too, Robert. And I'm willing to let you try. Because I don't think I can be without you either."

Robert closed his eyes and rested his forehead down on hers, ignoring the tiny twinge of pain where he'd hit his head upon the desk the day before.

"Take me home, Robert," she whispered again.

Nodding slowly, he opened his eyes. He took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss the back of it and then the bruise on her wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. "It will be my greatest pleasure, my love."

* * *

"'Cause it's so easy,  
To say it to a crowd."


	6. It's so hard to say it to you out loud

Robert took his wife home.

They decided to walk, sending Rosamund's chauffeur back to her house. Hand in hand, they strolled along the London streets, exchanging tender looks and a range of smiles, from shy to amused to blissfully happy.

When they returned to the house, Cora did exactly as she'd said she would and telephoned O'Brien to bring her things back. Then they ensconced themselves in the drawing room with a large tea – neither of them having been able to eat lunch – and talked. And talked and talked. Robert told her everything that he should have told her from the beginning. She listened, and she put things into perspective for him – even more so than he'd already figured out for himself the day before – and she understood, as she always did, and even more than he ever hoped that she would. As he had so often in the last few days, Robert wondered why on earth he had ever doubted her ability to look past his own worst thoughts and fears about himself, doubted her quiet reassurance and her pragmatism, doubted her constant faith in him.

It made him see even more clearly what he could have lost. And what he never wanted to come close to losing ever again.

They parted only long enough to change for dinner. Robert told Avery that he wanted their dinner to be by candlelight. Cora smiled softly at him from across the table, every bit as beautiful to him that night as she'd been when they'd first met. Robert knew he needed to make up for lost time, so he brought up their Venice trip.

Cora's eyes lit up. "I thought you'd forgotten all about it," she said, with a hint of amusement.

"No, of course not." He smiled back at her. "And, you're right, what you said earlier. Knowing that Matthew and Tom won't hesitate to do anything that needs to be done in my absence, it frees me to take you away for two weeks and not worry about what might be going on with the estate. I can trust them." He took her hand, realizing for the first time that he did trust them. And he trusted her. "I have other responsibilities that are more important." Kissing her hand, he asked, "So, when do you want to go?"

Clasping his hand with tears in her eyes, Cora beamed at him. Her Robert had truly returned to her.

They spent dinner planning their holiday to Venice, then making plans for the rest of their time in London. The next day was Friday, the day they'd originally set to return to Downton. But Robert still had a meeting with Murray in the morning, and he wanted to take Cora shopping like he should have done in the first place. Thus, they decided to add a day to their trip, setting Saturday as their new day of departure. They also decided they would invite Henry and Margaret over for dinner the next night, if the two weren't already otherwise engaged.

Once dinner was over, Cora led Robert up the stairs to their bedroom. Sensing a sudden nervousness and hesitation from him after the door had closed behind them, she stood in front of him, gazing up into his face, and brushed her hand gently across his cheek. His eyes closed, as if just this simple touch were heaven to him.

His heart beat harder when he heard her whisper in his ear, "Tell me again how much you love me."

Keeping his eyes closed, he found her arm, then, running his palm down it, found her hand. Clasping it warmly in his, he raised it to his lips, then whispered against it. "It's not something I can express adequately, Cora. All I know is that when you weren't here – I felt as if I didn't exist. Nothing," he continued whispering, opening his eyes to search hers, "_nothing_ meant anything without you."

Cora blinked against her tears and leaned up to kiss his mouth. At first, the kiss was tender, until she threw her arms around his neck and prodded his lips apart with hers, her tongue seeking entry. His hesitation concerned her. Everything she did, every new way of touching, he would return with gentleness, even eagerness, but he seemed cautious somehow. So, endeavoring to reassure him, Cora led the way for them. She slid her hands down from his neck to his collar, then his lapels, grasping them as they kissed, and prompting him to go with her as she walked backwards.

She stopped when her back hit the bedroom door, breaking the kiss to catch her breath and look at him lovingly. Once he realized where they were, however, his eyes grew wide with what she recognized as fear, and he tried to pull away from her with a "Cora, no, I –"

But her hands still firmly grasped his lapels. "Robert, please. I need something different to remember here. Please." Feeling that he wouldn't move away, she reached up with one hand and brushed it through his silvery locks.

Robert kept seeing her frightened face from that night in his mind; it alternated with the way she gazed at him now – with love and with an almost pleading expression. "Cora, I can't. What I did – "

Cora nodded at him sagely. "Robert, what you did the other night was wrong. I know you know that. So, please – show me what you should have done. Show me what you should have done to prove to me – to prove to yourself – that I belong to you." Her voice was now a whisper. "Because, oh darling, I _do_ belong to you. Only you."

Closing his eyes, Robert took a deep breath, then opened them again, locking them with his wife's. If this is what she thought would help, then that's what he would do. The arms he'd had at his sides he now placed gently on her shoulders. Her dinner dress being sleeveless, he slowly caressed the bare skin along the length of her arms until he reached her hands – one still on his lapel and the other having come to rest on his chest. He took her hands in his and wove their fingers together, then, reluctantly, he pulled his eyes from hers in order to kiss around each wrist, paying special attention to her bruised one.

Meeting her eyes again, he raised her arms over her head, slowly, cautiously, and rested both of them against the door, his own next to them. His weight, instead of being on the backs of her hands or her wrists, he took onto his own forearms as he leaned himself against her – more like a full body caress. He pressed his forehead timidly to her own, his eyes still looking into hers. Placing a tender kiss to her lips, then her cheeks, he moved his head to her neck, and Cora closed her eyes, lost in the exquisite pleasure his lips and tongue gave her.

And then, she opened her eyes. He'd stopped kissing her, and his hands clutched hers as if clutching for life itself. She could feel hot wetness against her neck and collar bone. Then she realized his whole body shook. "Robert?" she whispered.

Robert nuzzled his head farther into her neck, shaking harder.

Cora felt tears sting her own eyes now. Very gently, she loosed her hands from his and began to stroke his hair. He didn't move; his arms remained above her head and his body flush with hers. "Please, darling, look at me." Cora brought her hands around to his face and tenderly lifted his head. His face was streaked with tears, and there seemed to be no end to them in sight; his eyes were closed tightly. "Robert, look at me."

Blinking his eyes open briefly, he closed them again to shut out her sympathy and concern. They were almost as bad as her fear had been. "He's right. I don't deserve you. Oh, Cora, I'm so sorry." He shook and trembled, and he had to swallow hard in order to even breathe. "How can you ever forgive me?"

"Robert, I told you already I forgive you. I know that wasn't you." She ran gentle fingers along his face, wiping his tears as they fell, smoothing the lines in his forehead.

At this his eyes opened and focused on hers. "But Cora," he whispered, "you can't know how afraid I was – I am – knowing it's something I'm capable of. Because whatever it is, it must be part of me, somehow." His tears continued to fall, warm on her hands. Her own tears fell now too; her heart aching for his guilt, his sadness, his fear. "I can't be the one to put that look on your face again. I can't be the person you fear. I can't hurt you again."

Cora held his eyes with hers. "Darling, I know you won't let it happen again. I _know_ it as well as I know the touch of your hand upon mine and the sound of your voice. You won't."

He closed his eyes again and bowed his head. "What if I do?"

Before she could respond, Robert slid his arms down the door and around her waist, pulling her into a tight embrace, his head nuzzling just below her clavicle, his ear over her heart. Cora wrapped her arms around his neck, cradling his head against her, threading her fingers into his hair. She wanted so much to convey to him her own trust in him – the trust that he thought he'd lost. She realized that the person it was going to be most difficult to convince to trust in him – in his goodness and in his love for her – would be himself. Very softly, she spoke two words into his ear, breaking the silence between them: "You won't."

For a long while, Cora simply held him, their tears eventually running out. Once Robert seemed completely calm again, she kissed the bruise on his forehead, his temple, his cheek, then took him by the hand and sat him on the bed. Then she rang the bell and disappeared into the washroom, turning on the taps for the bath. Robert observed her actions with curiosity.

At a knock on the door, Cora came back into the room. "O'Brien," she said to the woman just beyond Robert's line of vision, "I won't be needing you tonight, and please tell Bates that he can go on to bed as well. Thank you."

Robert heard the "Yes, my lady," from O'Brien, and turned to Cora as she closed the door again.

"Cora, you don't have to –"

Standing in front of him, she bent down and lightly touched her lips to his to quiet him, her hands on either side of his face. "Shhh, my love."

"But, Cora –" he protested once more.

Stroking his face, Cora shook her head. "Robert, please, let me take care of you. Taking care of you makes me whole too."

He recognized his own words from earlier in the afternoon, and it was enough to bring fresh tears to his eyes. Seeing in hers a quiet resolve and steady tenderness, he nodded. For, just as he hadn't taken care of her in the past few weeks, he knew he hadn't allowed her to take care of him either, as she had so longed to do.

Leading him by the hand into the washroom, seeing the bath was full enough, she turned off the taps, then stood in front of him. With a gentle efficiency, she rid him of his garments and had him get into the steaming bath water while she took off her own clothes and tied up her hair. Robert watched her, his heart filling with love and gratitude. When Cora was ready, she instructed him to move up a bit, and he gave her a hand to help her settle in the bath behind him. It was somewhat of a tight fit, but they still had some room to move.

Taking the soap and sponge, Cora bathed her husband, hoping to wash away some of his fears and insecurities along with any lingering doubts that he may have had about her staying. Then, at his insistence, they carefully traded places, and he bathed her.

When he got to her left arm, he paused, examining the fresh bruises that had appeared from Stanton's grip upon it. Robert's face grew red, and he muttered indignantly, "I should have done more than toss that son of a bitch into a fountain."

Cora snapped her head around. "Robert!"

"I apologize for my language, Cora, but, honestly, I now regret having let him off so easily," he leaned down to kiss the dark marks upon her upper arm.

"Well, I told you to hit him, darling," she chuckled.

For the first time since dinner, he winked at her, grinning. "Yes, you did. And, as always, I should have listened to you." Then he looked back down at her arm, becoming solemn. "Are you hurt anywhere else, Cora?" His voice had a dangerous edge to it.

"No. At least, I don't think so." She waited until he was looking at her again, then she said, "Robert, will you promise me something?" At his nod, she touched his chin. "Promise me that if we ever meet up with that man again, you'll punch him?"

Slightly taken aback, Robert was silent. But he saw how serious she was about the request, and he lowered his eyes to the bruises on her arm before lifting them again to hers. "Yes, Cora. I will."

Kissing his cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned back against him, satisfied. He resumed washing her, hating Stanton every time he passed the sponge over her upper arm, hating himself all over again every time he saw the still noticeable bruises on her wrist. He meant to spend every day of the rest of his life making it up to her.

The water had turned tepid and their fingertips wrinkled before they were ready to leave the bath. They dried one another with soft towels and shared soft kisses, then helped one another into their night clothes. It had been an exhausting day, an exhausting evening, and neither had slept well for the past several days.

Thus, for the first time in over a week, Robert settled on his side of their bed and waited for Cora to nestle herself against his side, her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. Switching off the lamp, Robert wrapped his arms around her, sighing contentedly. He knew better than to think that everything was as it had been before. But he thought that at least they'd made a good start. Happy in that, he quickly followed Cora into the land of slumber.

* * *

Cora woke the next morning thinking she'd been dreaming. She was alone on her side of the bed. Frowning, she stretched and yawned, turning onto her back and reaching her arms out... touching something. It was Robert.

Smiling now, she scooted closer to him, becoming aware that he, too, was awake and watching her. He met her smile with his own and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You must have rolled away at some point in the night, darling. With this summer heat hitting the city, we should remember to open the windows in the evening so the cool air can come in." Robert stroked her hair.

Cora nodded. "I expected you to be up and getting ready for your meeting, Robert. What a pleasant surprise you're still here." She snuggled closer to him.

Robert chuckled. "It's several more hours before I have to be at Murray's office. I thought we could have breakfast together, if you don't object."

"I don't object at all, my dear. I think it's a fine idea." Leaving a hand on his chest, she sat up on her elbow. "If you're hungry now, I'll ring for O'Brien to bring us some."

"No, you stay comfortable, Cora. I'll get up." Kissing her lightly, he got up and rang the bell. He rubbed his eyes and then smiled at her. "Have you decided where we'll go this afternoon?"

"Well, I want to get a few more things for Sybbie, and there's a specialty thread shop that I've been meaning to go to. I'm running out of a few things at home." She scrunched up her forehead in thought. Suddenly it cleared. "Also, I ordered the most magnificent dress. I need to go by the shop to see if it's done yet or if I'll have to have it sent up to Downton later."

"That sounds wonderful, dear." At the knock, Robert opened the door and told O'Brien to bring up breakfast for two. She looked slightly flabbergasted, but went anyway. Chuckling, he shut the door again. "Well, she's not used to that, is she?"

Cora laughed. "She's not the only one. But I'm glad you're here." She held out her hand to him.

Walking across to take it, he leaned down and kissed it before sitting next to her. "I'm glad _you're_ here."

Soon they were situated on the bed with breakfast trays – Cora with her coffee, Robert with his tea. Robert playfully stole a piece of her bacon, so she threw a scone at him, laughing merrily.

When O'Brien came back up with one of the other maids to take the trays away again, she handed her mistress an envelope.

Cora eyed it askance. It was blank on the outside. "How did this come, O'Brien?"

"Mr. Avery said it arrived by courier, my lady."

"Thank you. You can come back in an hour."

With a nod, O'Brien followed the other maid out of the room.

Cora stared at the envelope in her hand, beginning to tremble. "Robert, I'm afraid to open this."

Putting his arm around her, he said, "Isn't it better to know what's in it?" He spoke softly, not exactly sure he wanted to know what was in it either.

Slowly, Cora nodded. She opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Turning it so they both could see, she unfolded it, and then, reading it, put a hand to her mouth. "Robert…" she whispered.

"I see it, Cora," he growled, feeling the heat rise in his face and clasping Cora tighter to him.

Cora suddenly turned to face him, her eyes glittering with tears. "It's my fault."

Robert stared at her, thunderstruck. "What on earth can you mean, Cora? That –" he jabbed a finger at the line on the page – "is not your fault. Stanton is obviously a lunatic."

"But, Robert, I encouraged him. I was so stupid. I wanted to make you jealous, so I encouraged him, even though I was never entirely comfortable with him." She swallowed hard and said, "It's my fault. All of it."

Sitting up straighter, Robert took her gently by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eye, speaking in a firm, but calm, voice. "Listen to me, Cora. I don't want you to ever say anything like that again. If you were trying to make me jealous, then I deserved it for being an ass. But you are not at fault. You did not make Stanton behave the way he has, any more than you made me behave the way I did. Stanton may not be all there, but he's definitely a grown man, in charge of his own actions, just as I am. _None_ of it is your fault. Do you understand me?"

Cora nodded. Then she whispered, "Robert, what do we do?"

"It's simple, Cora. We don't let him get to us. We'll do what we'd already planned. I'll make sure Avery knows not to let in any visitors. I'll go see Murray and come home. This afternoon, we will go visit the shops together. Tonight we'll have Margaret and Henry over, and tomorrow we'll be on the train home." He paused before adding, "And if that bastard comes anywhere near either of us, I will tear him limb from limb. I won't let him touch you ever again, Cora."

Nodding once more, she lay her head on his chest, letting the paper fall to the floor as Robert embraced her, creating a protective shelter around her.

In Stanton's hand was one line: _You will be mine._

* * *

"But it's so hard, my love,  
To say it to you out loud."


	7. When it's over, you're the start

Robert did his best to keep his mind on ironing out details of the latest estate plans while he sat across from Murray in his office. But it was difficult indeed.

Avery received strict instructions not to let in anyone that morning while Robert was away. When he'd left the house, Robert took the motor rather than walking. He'd kept a sharp eye out for the reprehensible rascal, but saw no sign of him. He wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. He wasn't thoughtless enough to think Stanton had given up – especially not after that morning's note.

He just wondered when the other shoe was going to drop. He knew one thing for certain: when it did, he'd be ready.

He left Murray more or less satisfied about their meeting and told the chauffeur to get back to the house as quickly as possible. He found Cora in the drawing room with her embroidery. She looked up at him with a bright smile. This went a long way to calm him, and he crossed the room to sit beside her with an answering smile.

"How did your meeting go, darling?"

"Well enough," he answered, kissing her cheek.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, setting her embroidery aside. "This came a little earlier." She retrieved an envelope from her pocket and held it out to him.

Robert's heart jumped a bit until he recognized Margaret's elegant, loopy handwriting upon the front. He took it and read the note. "How wonderful. I trust you already let the cook know we'd be having guests for dinner?"

"Yes, darling, I did. Speaking of that, there's Avery now to tell us luncheon is ready." She stood and pulled him up with her so they could go to the dining room.

Wondering at her cheerful calm, Robert followed her and sat to have their meal together. He decided not to say anything.

Cora, for her part, had decided to trust in her husband implicitly. If he said he wouldn't let Stanton touch her again, she knew he meant it. It's not that she wasn't nervous – particularly about their afternoon outing. She simply knew that if something were to happen, he would keep her safe.

After luncheon, they set out together, opting to have the motor take them close to the block of shops they meant to visit and then walk from there. Robert kept glancing about – as surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to make Cora anxious – as they went into a shop to buy various things for Sybbie. He did his best to enter into the spirit of it, as he loved his granddaughter to pieces. The openness of the shop aided him in this, and he pointed out a doll that looked a little like their precious Sybil.

Cora smiled at him and picked up the doll, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's perfect, Robert. She'll love it."

Adding a few other things to the parcel the clerk was wrapping up for them, Cora stood by while Robert paid the bill. Requesting that someone take the parcel to their motor car to leave in the care of their chauffeur, he gave his wife his arm and guided her out of the shop, letting her steer them to the next one she wanted to visit.

As they came out of this shop a bit later and began walking toward the dress shop, Robert felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He gazed around them, the modicum of calm he'd managed to gain in the past hour rapidly fading. He could feel eyes upon them, but he could not locate the person to whom the eyes must belong.

At the tightening of Robert's arm around hers, Cora looked at him. "Robert? Is everything alright?"

"Cora," he said in a low voice, casting glances all around them, "just keep walking, darling."

The note of urgency in his voice made her breath catch. But she kept going, clutching his arm, her eyes set on their destination. They were nearly to the dress shop when Robert unexpectedly ceased walking, standing stock still and quickly snaking his arm around his wife's waist.

Disconcerted by the sudden stop, Cora turned her head. "Rob–" But the next syllable stuck, as astounded as she was at the sight that met her.

"I will request that the two of you accompany me into the adjacent alley, please," Stanton hissed. The odor of whiskey poured off the man and saturated the air around them. He stood on the other side of Robert, and Cora had seen the flash of sunlight on a blade against her husband's throat.

Not having much choice otherwise, Robert and Cora went with Stanton into the dim, dank alley between the dress shop and a milliner. Once they had gotten far enough down to be unlikely to attract the interest of any passersby of the two shops, Stanton pressed the knife another half a centimeter against Robert's skin, drawing a drop of blood. "Here," he said.

Robert didn't flinch, but stood still, breathing as evenly as he could while Cora trembled next to him, small sounds escaping involuntarily from her throat. His mind raced, calculating their options and hoping that, when the time came, he and Cora would act just as seamlessly together as they had the day before.

"Now, my dear, if you'll step away from his lordship…." Stanton fastened his eyes upon her as, at the press of Robert's hand against her waist indicating she should do as their captor said, she reluctantly moved away from the circle of his arm and walked a short distance to face them both. "There's a good girl," he crooned, smiling wickedly, putting his other hand on Robert's shoulder.

Cora set her jaw stubbornly against his condescending tone. She could see how bloodshot the man's eyes were, as well as the shadow of stubble along his cheeks and chin. His drunkenness could be an asset to them – or it could be a liability, as unstable as they already knew him to be.

"Now, Lord Grantham," Stanton jeered, turning to address Robert while he twisted the blade a bit more into his flesh. "How do you plan to 'break me in half'?"

Robert said nothing, but kept his eyes locked on his wife's. She wasn't very far from the two of them, but she carefully crept closer, counting on Stanton to underestimate her – or at least continue to be distracted with taunting her husband.

Catching the motion out of the corner of his eye, Stanton whipped his head around to her. "Oh, I wouldn't come any nearer, my dear. You wouldn't want to be the one to force my hand, would you?" At this, he pushed the knife a few millimeters more, a slow trickle now escaping the small wound.

Cora froze but did not retreat. Once he was satisfied that she wouldn't move again, Stanton squeezed Robert's shoulder and snarled into his ear, "I told you: she will be mine."

Robert refused to reply, but continued to gaze at his wife. He realized that a bluff would be their best chance, but he wasn't sure how to communicate it to her without moving. After a handful of seconds that felt like an age, Cora nodded almost imperceptibly at him.

It wasn't until she took one step closer and reached out to touch Stanton's arm gently that Robert was certain that either he'd conveyed what he needed to her, or that she'd simply reached the same conclusion he had. It didn't matter. Feeling the steel prick his skin even more at Stanton's involuntary flinch when she touched him, Robert knew it was worth a little blood if they could pull this off.

Cora said softly, "Le, please. Let him go. I'll go with you. Just, please, don't hurt him."

The words tasted acidic in her mouth, and she had to stop herself from spitting his nickname. It took every ounce of control she had to look at him with the gentleness she needed in order for their ruse to work. But she knew she had to.

Within seconds, she also knew they had him right where they wanted him.

Stanton stared at Cora in his drunken haze, the knife still at Robert's throat, but the grip on his shoulder already loosening. "You – you will?" He seemed dazed at this and looked down at where her hand touched his arm.

"Yes," she managed to affirm.

Hesitating, he moved his eyes from her hand to the knife, then to her face. Her smile was warm and her eyes tender. Fortunately, he was too inebriated to notice she trembled with the effort.

As soon as Robert felt the knife leave his throat, he elbowed Stanton in the stomach. Then, sparing a glance to make sure Cora had skipped back away from them, Robert rounded on the crumpling man, bringing his fist up to meet his nose with a powerful blow. Blood spurted from the appendage, but still Stanton gripped the knife.

Grabbing his left hand, Robert twisted Stanton's arm behind his back, as he had at the fountain, but this time he slammed him up against the brick wall of the dress shop. Pressing Stanton into the brick, he seized his knife hand and smashed it against the wall as well, attempting to get him to drop the blade.

Cora stood back with her hands covering her mouth, watching this display in fascination, awe, and apprehension. She knew she should run for the police, but she couldn't seem to tear herself away. At least not while Stanton was still conscious and held a knife.

Stanton laughed maniacally. "Ah, the great Earl of Grantham. How aristocratic is this?" His voice sounded pinched because of his – most likely broken – nose. "Is this any way for a lord to act?"

"I told you that you had no idea with whom you were dealing," he growled. "I am _not_ –" he bashed Stanton's hand against the wall again – "the Earl –" _slam_ – "of Grantham –" _smash_ – "but Robert Crawley –" _bash_ – "_husband_ –" _slam_ – "of Cora Crawley!" He smashed Stanton's hand once more, but this time, growing impatient, he also ground his hand forcefully against the brick.

Finally uttering his first real cry of pain, Stanton released the knife. Kicking it away from them, Robert held his hand up by the wrist now, having heard the snapping of bone.

Cora, recognizing that her husband had effectively incapacitated their assailant, sprinted out of the alley to find a policeman.

Robert, hearing her go, kept Stanton pinned to the wall. The man breathed heavily from pain. Robert couldn't be bothered to care. He leaned down and hissed in Stanton's ear, "I told you the first time we met that I would break your hands. You'd better thank God I haven't decided to break the other one." Jerking Stanton back a bit, he rammed him into the brick one final time for emphasis as he heard voices and hurried footsteps coming from the end of the alley.

Accompanied by two policemen, Cora pointed to the knife that had skittered and come to rest a few yards from the combatants. She had to take multiple deep breaths as she explained to the policemen what happened. Then she indicated to one of them where the knife had penetrated her husband's throat. While the other picked up the blade with a handkerchief, the first leaned close to Stanton, who now had his eyes closed in his agony, breathing open-mouthed because of the blood still dripping from his nose. The policeman almost staggered back at the stench of the alcohol on his breath.

"Well, your lordship, I commend you for taking care of the situation for yourself and her ladyship," he said, addressing Robert. "Drunk and disorderly at the very least, I'd say, but I think charges of assault are in order as well. Taylor, let's get this ruffian back to the station." He turned from the other policeman and back to Robert. "We can take it from here, my lord."

Robert stepped back from Stanton as the policemen took him by the arms and began dragging him toward the street. Stanton twisted his head to look at them, throwing out, "How could you, my dear?" in a hurt voice, as if she'd betrayed him most deeply.

As the trio continued down the alley, Cora pressed herself close to Robert and pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket, applying it to the wound gently as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. For the first time, he winced.

"I'm sorry, darling," she whispered.

Turning tender eyes to her, he replied, "It's alright, my love." He wanted to touch her cheek, but he felt polluted by having to handle Stanton. He began to guide her out of the alley. "Did I carry out your promise as you'd hoped?"

"Oh, Robert." She halted their steps to put her arms around him and embrace him tightly, unable to stop her tears from falling. "I was so afraid. Afraid that he'd hurt you – or worse."

Passing soothing hands over her back, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "But he didn't," he said softly. "And, even afraid, you performed admirably, Cora. I'm not sure how else we could have managed to overpower him."

Cora raised her head to look at him. "Somehow I knew what you needed me to do. I don't even know how exactly. I just… did."

"I suppose that's what happens when two people have spent as long as we have together." He smiled at her. "Now, I would really like to go somewhere to at least wash my hands. That bastard's scent clings to me in a particularly revolting manner." His face contorted into an expression of disgust.

"Yes, my love. Let's leave this horrible place." She walked along with him again, out into the afternoon sunlight and on to their motor.

Once they got into the house, Robert sent Cora upstairs. They'd agreed to have Henry and Margaret to dinner still, but Robert wanted to telephone and see if they could push the time back by an hour, thinking they could use the time to recover from their early afternoon adventure. First, however, he slipped into the downstairs washroom and scrubbed his hands vigorously, even reaching up under his shirt cuffs with the soap, not minding their getting a bit wet. He washed his face as well and used a dampened cloth to wipe the front of his suit as best he could, until the stink of whiskey and blood – that he now noticed as he examined his reflection – were so faint as to be nearly nothing. Exiting the washroom, he headed for the library telephone.

Cora sat upstairs on the bed, waiting for Robert to join her, going over and over the events of the past hour (had it been only an hour? It had felt like far longer) in her head. Remembering how her husband had taken charge once Stanton had withdrawn the knife blade…. Cora put a hand over her rapidly beating heart and shivered. But it wasn't with trepidation this time.

Robert came into the bedroom, saying, "Cora, Henry said that – OOMPH!" He staggered a bit, Cora having practically launched herself at him once the door was closed, jumping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist, winding him. In the next second she had pulled his head toward her and captured his lips in a passionate kiss.

Instinctively, Robert slid his arms around her and pressed her closer, returning the kiss eagerly. He'd forgotten how long it had actually been since they'd been together, and the heat she was creating with her enthusiasm produced a pronounced reaction in him.

Pulling back from her, Robert panted, trying to catch his breath. "Cora, slow down," he chuckled – partly from amusement at her zeal, but mostly from relief that they were safe and sound in their own bedroom, their arms firmly wrapped around one another.

"I can't." She, too, was panting. Her blue eyes had grown several shades darker with desire. "Yes, darling, I was frightened, but at the same time it was thrilling, watching you teach him a lesson – watching you protect me from him. I keep seeing in my mind the ripple of muscle across your shoulders, even through your jacket…."

She crushed her mouth to his again, reaching down to unbutton said jacket and shrug it off his shoulders one side at a time. It fell to the floor. Remembering another time that he'd punched a man for propositioning his wife, and how she'd reacted similarly – calling him "masterful" – he slipped his hands down and fondled her buttocks, pressing her against himself with even more intention. Her groan of delight caused him to feel that his trousers were far too constraining.

"Cora," he breathed against her lips. "I –" Her nod interrupted him, and, as if she simply knew what he was thinking again, she scrambled down and made quick work of ridding herself of her skirt and undergarments. Kicking these behind her, she helped him unbutton his trousers and detach them from his braces. Once they were both naked from the waist down, she hopped back up into his arms. He leaned against an empty stretch of wall, putting his weight on his shoulder blades in order not to hurt Cora's legs wrapped tightly around his lower back.

"Robert," she panted, wriggling against him, her hands on his face and her eyes on his.

Kissing her again, Robert lifted Cora's hips and settled her down over him, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh of pure pleasure into her mouth. Cupping his hands around her bottom once more, he helped her move against him. Then, as she began to gasp and emit a series of high-pitched squeaks, he more actively thrust his hips upward, endeavoring to prolong her enjoyment. He bent his head down to nuzzle into her neck as she thread her fingers through his hair. She let out a long, deep sigh just before Robert let out his own groan of release, sliding his arms up to pull her tighter to him, running his hands under her blouse and pressing soft kisses to her collar bone.

Cora relaxed completely within the wave of euphoria that enveloped her. She continued to play with Robert's hair, taking deep breaths and resting her chin lightly on the top of his head. After they'd both calmed, their heartbeats and breathing returning to normal, Cora caressed Robert's face, lifting his head to look at him.

"That was brilliant," she whispered with a soft smile.

Returning the smile, he touched his lips lightly to hers. "I quite agree, my darling." He kissed her jaw, just in front of her ear, then said gently, "However, I need to move soon. My back is starting to hurt a little." He nibbled her earlobe lovingly, feeling a pang to remember that it was the ear he'd bitten a few days before.

Slowly, Cora straightened her legs to stand, leaning against him and chuckling to realize that they were a bit wobbly. Robert pressed his back fully against the wall, trying to work out the little aches in it. Clasping his hands in hers, Cora tilted her head up for another kiss, then said, "I'll massage your back later, my love. It's the least I can do."

As she turned away from him, releasing his hands with a waggle of her eyebrows, he swatted her playfully on the rear, winking at her. Cora gasped in surprise, at the same time that she heaved a deep sigh of relief inside. Perhaps he had started to trust himself again, even if only a little. Otherwise, he wouldn't have smacked her in even a teasing way.

Cora went over to where they'd thrown their clothes, bending down to pick them up. Observing her, Robert grew warm. His eyes glazed over and he fumbled with his tie, his cufflinks, his shirt buttons.

Depositing the clothes on a chair, Cora turned and saw the gleam in her husband's eye, the way he tore at the rest of his clothes to remove them quickly, and, her eye straying farther down, how he so obviously wanted her again. Her breath caught, and she absentmindedly slipped a hand beneath her collar to cover her already racing heart.

"I see someone is ready to make up for the past few weeks, isn't he?" she murmured, her cheeks flushed.

He simply nodded, keeping his eyes on her as he slid off his waistcoat, braces, and shirt.

"Darling?" Her voice was breathy as she began unbuttoning her blouse. "Might you open the window? It's stifling in here all of a sudden."

Watching him walk over to the window to open it for her, Cora bit her lip, grinning. Dropping the blouse to the floor, she came up behind him and rested her head against his back. She snaked one arm around his chest, grazing her fingers over a nipple. The other arm fell across his hip, her hand wrapping around him. She let out a noise of bliss to feel him harden more at her touch. Robert clutched at the window sill, closing his eyes and making guttural sounds in his throat.

"Keep doing that, Cora," he said huskily, "And I won't be able to make up for lost time again until later tonight." He took her hands from him gently and kissed the back of each of them before turning to face her.

She looked up at him with a broad grin, weaving his fingers through hers.

His expression transformed into one of great tenderness as he bent his head to press his forehead to hers, gazing into her eyes. "God, how I've missed you, sweetheart. I was too wrapped up in my own ridiculousness to realize just how much."

"You don't have to miss me anymore, Robert. I'm right here, and I want you so badly."

Surprising her, he let go of her hands and scooped her up in his arms. Kissing her lovingly, he lay her on the bed, running his fingertips along the length of her body, caressing her skin, making her hum with delight and heightened desire. Reaching the juncture of her legs, he slipped his fingers inside her and stroked her gently, then with more pressure, his thumb teasing her now as well. His eyes held hers as he watched her, listened to her. As she began to buck against his hand, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Yes, my love. I want so much to give you pleasure."

Cora clutched at his arm. "Robert… please… I need you…."

Hearing the desperation in her voice, Robert removed his hand from her so he could settle between her thighs. She was already nodding vigorously at him, panting and squirming beneath him. When he entered her, the feeling of her was so incredible he almost spiraled out of control in the first few seconds. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, willing himself to remember how much he wanted to make love to the sweet creature whose arms had reached up to wrap around him and press him to herself.

Getting his bearings, he kissed her again before moving, slowly and deliberately at first and then with greater fervor. Their breath mingled and their hearts beat against each other. He brushed her hair back from her face as he gazed into her eyes, and her heart leapt when she saw the depth of feeling in them. It was as if, having found their way back to one another once more, he sought to add the last piece to the puzzle, to truly bring them together – mind, soul, and body.

Finally, she had to close her eyes, crying out and arching her back as she climaxed again. It was all Robert could do not to collapse against her right away, the way she sent waves of pleasure through him. Keeping hold of his last shred of coherent thought, he gathered her up and turned them onto their sides, pulling a sheet lightly up over them.

Finding themselves recovering for a second time in a row, they grinned at one another and held each other close. "Aren't you glad I convinced Henry and Margaret to defer their visit for another hour?" Robert chuckled. Then he ran his fingers lightly over the bruises on Cora's upper arm, wishing he could somehow erase them, but glad that he'd returned the favor – and more – to the miscreant who'd caused them.

Smiling in happy exhaustion, Cora nodded. "Yes. Very glad." She leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to where Stanton's blade had dug into his flesh. Then she nestled more comfortably against him. "I love you so much, Robert. My stalwart protector."

Holding her even more tightly, he replied, "I will always protect you. For you _are_ my heart, Cora. I wouldn't know love if it weren't for you."

Hearing his wife sigh contentedly and her breathing grow deeper, Robert glanced at the clock and decided to let her sleep for a while. He would wake her when it was time to dress. For now, he was happy to hold her next to his heart and feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his.

* * *

"You are the morning when it's clear  
When it's over you're the start  
You're my head,  
You're my heart"


	8. What stays and what fades away

About a half hour before the dressing gong, Robert knew it was time to wake Cora. The serenity on her face made him loath to do so, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate it if he didn't give her enough time to dress before the appearance of O'Brien at her door.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, pressing his lips to the delicate skin just in front of her ear. When she stirred, but didn't wake, he ran his hand along her arm, and placed another kiss on her cheek. "Cora… time to wake up."

Yawning and stretching in his arms, Cora opened her eyes and smiled. "Darling." She put a hand on his face and kissed him. "I had a most marvelous dream."

"You did?" He returned her smile. "What was it about?"

"Well, it wasn't completely clear, but from what I could tell, we were taking a baby – maybe six or seven months old – to see your mother. I'm unsure whose baby it was, Robert. Perhaps Mary and Matthew's. But it looked a little like me, and a lot like you. And Mama was completely enamored with it." Here she laughed. "Something I thought I'd never see."

Robert stroked her hair. "It sounds like a nice dream, Cora." He didn't take stock in dreams, but he knew that they affected his wife, and he was always glad when she had a pleasant one, because it put her in a good mood.

"It was. It made me very happy." She kissed him again and let out a soft sigh as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to get up." She chuckled.

"I know, my darling. Nor do I. But we are expecting Margaret and Henry." Running his hand over her hair one last time, he kissed her forehead and moved to get up.

Stretching again, Cora stood up as well. "Did you sleep too, Robert?" She found her various garments on the floor and in the chair and handed him those of his garments she'd deposited upon the chair.

"No. I watched you sleep instead. And thought." He began slipping his clothes on, more or less correctly, not caring what Bates thought or assumed from his disheveled state.

"For over an hour? Goodness, what were you thinking about?" She buttoned her skirt and shrugged into her blouse.

Stepping close to her, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "You." He grinned. Going back to his own buttons, he said, "And I was planning a few things for our Venice trip."

"You were?" She paused in tucking her blouse into her skirt to smile at him. "Will you tell me?"

"No." Robert looked up from his cufflinks with a mischievous expression. "I'm keeping them a surprise."

Cora chuckled. "Here, let me." She stood close to him and put his cufflinks into his cuffs, knowing that, left to his own devices, he'd either tear his shirt or simply give up altogether. "I love surprises."

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "There's the dressing gong. I'll knock when I'm ready so we can go down together."

"Alright, darling." She grasped his shirt sleeves and crushed his lips to hers. She lowered her voice, her eyes tender. "Thank you, Robert. For all of it. I love you."

"You never have to thank me for being the husband I'm supposed to be." Robert kissed her once more, only ending it when O'Brien's knock came at the door. "I love you, too," he murmured, picking up his blood-stained jacket and going to his dressing room door. He turned briefly to give her a loving smile before disappearing behind it.

* * *

Margaret's mouth fell open – and stayed open – in a most unladylike fashion as Robert and Cora told their friends about what had happened with Stanton earlier in the alley and the day before in Hyde Park. Her eyes grew very round, and she clasped Cora's hand tightly.

Henry sipped his preprandial Scotch while he listened. Robert had told him a portion of the story over the telephone earlier, but he'd not realized how little of it until now. He kept shaking his head, noises of incredulity escaping his throat.

Except – Henry wasn't as incredulous as he might have been a few hours before. Once Robert and Cora had finished their tale and the four had sat down to dinner, Henry cleared his throat. "I have something to add to today's events, something by way of a conclusion to the entire business."

The others stared at him. "You do?" Robert asked.

Nodding, Henry carefully put down his fork. "When you telephoned me earlier, Robert, I remembered something that – that –" He found it difficult to say his name now, knowing what he'd done. "Well, he'd said something offhand to me once – one of the few times I'd actually seen him drunk – something about a sister. So I called 'round to his house. I'd been there before, you see, but somehow, I thought –"

Margaret leaned forward a little in her chair. "Henry, I never knew he had a sister."

Taking a sip of his wine, Henry shook his head. "I couldn't be sure if he was simply rambling or not, Meg. But in light of what Robert told me happened earlier, I decided to take a chance. I went to his house and asked for Miss Stanton. Lo and behold… she was there."

Cora looked from Henry to Robert and back again. "Did – did you speak to her?"

Henry nodded once again. "I did. She had a bruise on her left cheek. A fresh one." Casting his eyes down, he heaved a sigh. "I told her that her brother was in jail for assault and being drunk and disorderly. And she –" looking up again, he continued, "she looked relieved. Relieved and bone tired. She bid me to sit down, and then she told me a story that I might not have believed unless I'd received Robert's telephone call earlier."

"Well?" Robert sat on the edge of his seat, just as enrapt as Cora and Margaret.

"Well, she told me first that their real name wasn't Stanton. It's Adams. Emily and Maxwell Adams. And apparently they've had many other names as well. Cora, this isn't the first time he's done this." Henry met Cora's eyes, watching her face drain of color.

"Henry! What do you mean?" Margaret pushed back her plate, her food forgotten.

"I mean that Stanton – really, Max Adams – has traveled to many cities, and in each one has attached himself to a lady. They've generally been of good class and married. Miss Adams said that every time, he's gotten to a point where the police have had to be brought in. But he's clever; he disappears, dragging his sister with him."

Cora gasped. "But, Henry, why hasn't Miss Adams turned him in before now?" She could feel her husband's anger radiating from across the table.

"She's been too afraid of him. And from the bruise on her face, I can see why. She only told me because I assured her he was locked up and couldn't get to her." Henry looked at Robert, shaking his head. "She honestly fears him, Robert. I could see it in her eyes. Even with my reassurance, she was nervous." He turned to Cora now. "She said he showed up at their home in the middle of last night, drunk. And he kept drinking into the morning –"

"That's why the bloody bastard-"

"Robert!" Cora exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, Cora, Margaret, but the confounded brute makes me want to swear." Robert's brow was thunderous. "But, as I was saying, that's why the scoundrel wasn't hanging about the house this morning like he'd been before."

Henry nodded. "Yes. He was at his own house. Miss Adams attempted to talk him out of his course of action when she saw him with the knife. She said he'd never taken a weapon with him previously, with the other women he'd terrorized, and it alarmed her. It made her fear for his sanity. Not that she hadn't questioned it before, of course. She blocked the door. That's when he struck her and pushed her out of his way. And it's not the first time he's hit her."

Margaret had her hands over her mouth now. "Henry! To think we've had this man in our home!"

Cora, her face still white, turned to her friend. "Margaret, you couldn't have known. He's eluded the police for who knows how long – he's apparently good at deception."

"That's right, Meg. We weren't to know. And, Cora, I think you have the right of it." Henry fiddled with his wine glass.

"What about his fortune?" Robert asked.

"Ah. That, my friend, is where it all starts. Miss Adams says that he wasn't like this until he cashed in on his investments. His money has allowed him to pursue women he never would have been allowed near before, and it has allowed him to effectively hide. He'll grease palms and pay people off if he can; for their loyalty, for their help, for their silence. It's another reason Miss Adams was frightened to say anything. She has no means of wealth for herself, and as her brother rarely lets her out of the house, she has no prospects for marriage." Henry shrugged. "She's hated keeping silent, but she saw no other choice. And his violence has only gotten worse over the past year or so. It's made her more desperate to tell someone – but more petrified to do it. He's continually bullied her into silence."

At this point, one could imagine steam coming from Robert's ears. "You know, earlier today, I felt that I might have treated Stant– er, Adams more cruelly than was absolutely called for, but now I'm not sorry at all. The way he threatened Cora was bad enough, but now that I know that there were others – and abusing his own sister? I'd rather I _had_ broke his other hand as well!"

"Now, darling, please calm down." Cora's expression was tender. "I think there's an important thing to consider here. Henry?" He fastened his eyes on hers. "What about keeping Adams in jail? How do we do that? He needs to be accountable for his crimes. And I can't even begin to say how sorry I am for his poor sister."

Henry began to smile. "It's all been taken care of. I accompanied Miss Adams to Scotland Yard after she told me her story. She's been keeping a log of all the places they've lived, and the names – if she's known them – of the women he's pursued. I must say, Cora, he's never set his sights quite as high as a countess before."

Cora shivered. "Henry, that's not funny."

He shook his head. "No, actually, it wasn't meant to be. I told the inspector at Scotland Yard to leave the two of you out of this unless they absolutely needed your evidence for some reason. He felt they had more than enough with Miss Adams and the other women."

"And they'll keep the blaggard locked up?" Robert asked in a growl.

"Yes, Robert. Scotland Yard doesn't want to lose him again."

Cora let out a long breath of relief. But Margaret worried her serviette. "Henry? Might we see if Miss Adams would stay with us for a while? Until things are worked out? I feel like she might need some friends right now."

Henry smiled warmly at his wife. "That's a wonderful idea, Meg. We'll telephone her when we get home."

Robert lifted his glass. "I think we should have a toast." He waited for the others to follow suit. "To satisfactory resolutions to problems – and to friends."

"To friends!" they echoed, as everyone drank.

Robert winked at Cora across the table. And she knew if they were alone, he would add, "To love renewed and silences broken." She drank to that as well.

* * *

Margaret watched her friend closely as they went through to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to cigars and brandy. She sat with her on the settee and took her hand. "Cora, darling, I was so happy to hear from you yesterday inviting us here tonight. I had wondered…." She trailed off, smiling at the grin on Cora's face.

"Yes, well, so much has happened over the past two days, Margaret." She lifted her eyes to meet her friend's, her cheeks pink.

"I think even I can see that _your_ Robert is back," Margaret prompted.

Cora's smile grew wider and her blush deepened. "Oh, Margaret! If you could have heard what he said in front of Stan– well, that man – in front of everyone present at the park. My husband, the man who will hardly hold my hand if anyone else is there…." She shook her head, still hardly daring to believe it. "It was beautiful. And how he didn't want to use violence yesterday, to show he could keep his temper. Because he thought he'd lose me if he did…." Cora's eyes shone with unshed tears. "And then we came home, and we talked like we haven't in months. Then, last night –"

Margaret chuckled. "Ah. Yes."

But Cora shook her head, her face serious. "No. He –" her voice lowered to a whisper – "Margaret, he was afraid. And so very remorseful. It was moving and sad and… I'm not sure I realized how much pain that hurting me had caused _him_ until then."

Squeezing Cora's hand, Margaret nodded. "Yes, I know how very much he loves you – treasures you above all things."

"His behavior caused me to wonder, you see. But I see now why he was so silent." She took a deep breath, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushing again. "And then today. Oh, darling, he was – he was magnificent. I was terrified, of course. The man had a knife to my husband's throat! But, oh my, how Robert performed when the knife was removed." Her eyes moved away from Margaret's and rested on some distant point, and her friend could see she was playing the scene over in her mind.

Laughing, Margaret pressed her hand again. "Cora, you make it sound most exciting."

Cora turned her eyes back to Margaret's. "Well, in a way it was. I know that it was far more dangerous than Robert's punching Alistair all those years ago, but it was also far more exhilarating." She blushed harder and lowered her eyes with a grin.

Margaret giggled. "I'm sure you rewarded him most enthusiastically when you returned home."

"Ah, well, a lady never kisses and tells," Cora said with a wink.

"Oh, Cora. I'm just so happy you've gotten Robert back. You're two of my oldest and dearest friends, and, I have to be honest, I knew from the night you came to dinner without him that something was amiss."

Cora nodded. "I know you did. You even asked about it, if I recall."

"I did." Margaret became grave. "I feel I owe you an apology."

"No, Margaret. You don't. You didn't know. Please – please don't feel responsible for any of this. The only person responsible – as Robert told me just this morning – is Stan– er, Adams. All of this is his doing. Not yours." Cora held her friends eyes with her own. Margaret sighed and nodded. "Now," Cora said, "no more talk of that." She smiled. "I want to tell you about the holiday in Venice that we're planning…."

* * *

Robert and Henry sat with brandy and cigars, just as they had two nights before in Henry's dining room. Only this time, the opposite mood hung in the air.

"So, old chap," Henry began, "she's accepted you back, eh?"

"Henry, I'm convinced it was nothing short of miraculous. How else would she have accepted me back after how I behaved?" Robert had a sip of brandy and tapped ash into the receptacle.

Henry shrugged and peered at Robert. "Because she loves you, and she knows you wouldn't hurt her if you realized what you were doing."

Robert exhaled a long breath before having another drink of brandy. "Cora said much the same. She believes in me far more than I believe in myself. She always has."

"It's wonderful to have a woman like that, isn't it?" Henry smiled at him.

Knowing his friend was one of the few men of his acquaintance who actually knew whereof he spoke, Robert nodded. "It is indeed, Henry. It is indeed."

* * *

Cora and Robert bid Margaret and Henry adieu a little earlier than they would have liked, but only because they knew Margaret was keen to get Emily Adams under their care as soon as possible.

"Do you really think we won't have to be involved in this, Robert?" Cora clutched his hand tightly as they made their way upstairs.

"If Henry has anything to do with it, we won't. But, Cora, I hope you won't object if I hire the best solicitor I can find to take this case. I want that bas- erm, that confounded villain behind bars as long as they will put him there."

"No, darling. I don't object." Cora waited for Robert to open the bedroom door for her. "He should pay for the pain he's caused."

Robert kissed her gently. "I'll be back in just a while," he said, tugging on her bell cord for O'Brien.

After they'd been attended to by Bates and O'Brien, Robert slipped into their bedroom and climbed into bed next to his wife.

"Come here, my love," he whispered, holding his arms out.

Cora switched out her lamp, leaving his own bedside lamp as the only light in the room. "Robert, might I ask you something?"

"Of course, Cora." He worked on loosening the ribbon in her hair, wanting very much to thread his fingers through her dark locks.

Resting her head on his chest while he did this, she inquired, "Might we not say anything about this business at home? I don't want to alarm anyone. And if that man is no longer a threat to us…."

Placing the ribbon upon his bedside table, Robert played with her hair, as he loved to do. "If you want to do that, Cora, then we will. To be honest, I'd like to put the whole thing behind us. Start fresh." He slid his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face so he could look in her eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, _he_ is merely the catalyst for bringing us closer together. Not that I'll be thanking him." He smiled at her and kissed her forehead.

"Yes, I like the idea of starting fresh. And I very much look forward to your taking me away to Venice in October." She grinned, thinking of the dress she'd had made and how she planned to hide it away as a surprise during their trip.

"I do too. You deserve it, sweetheart, and so much more," he whispered.

"How much more, Robert?" Cora tilted her head up to him, whispering in return, "Show me."

As they made love for the third time that day, Robert and Cora knew that silence had a role in their lives. There would be a silence about the man who had made their lives misery the past week. Robert would keep silent about his episodes – so as not to worry his wife. Cora would become silent about her absent monthly cycle in the months to come. But, for the most part, the only silences between them would be the silences that came from understanding one another so fully that words became unnecessary.

* * *

"You want a revelation  
Some kind of resolution  
You want a revelation

...A revelation in the light of day,  
You can't choose what stays and what fades away."


End file.
